


Where the Sea May Take Us

by napoleonboneaparte



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: British Jason, Captain Percy, Everyone's a Colonial or European, Italian Nico, M/M, Pirate Nico, Soldier Jason, War of the Spanish Succession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napoleonboneaparte/pseuds/napoleonboneaparte
Summary: "You think you're really something, don't you, Grace?"The fate of two individuals intertwine, while war rages on in their home continent faraway. In the New World however, fortunes and feats are to be made by those brave enough. A soldier, whose allegiance to his queen and his country stays strong, a pirate, who bows to no king but himself. When circumstances push these two souls together, will they be able to put aside their differences for a common cause? Will the pain and the loss be able to create something far better than they could have hoped for?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you may have noticed, I deleted a certain work that I realised was not a really good start to long-time planned chaptered story. So, a quick reboot was necessary and here we are again. So, for this chapter, the dialogue actually takes place entirely in Italian, but I just wrote it in English, so if you can speak Italian, translate it yourself. Anyway, with some free time now that my college semester is over, I should be able to pump out some more chapters more frequently.

** Venice, 1690 **

All was strangely quiet even as hot hues of red and yellow began to illuminate the murky, shimmering waters of the Venetian Lagoon. The Floating City held its collective breath; this time, not because of the horrendous stench of the canals, but rather, in impatient anticipation.

A bright streak of light, a shooting star, ascended into the night sky, rising quickly, as though it was a fallen star wishing to join the heavenly choir above. It was followed by another, and a third. Soon, the sky was filled with what looked like a hundred streaks of light when the bells of the Campanile de San Marco began their solemn chime. Altogether in synchrony, the streaks of light exploded into clouds of stars, filling the dark blackness of space with every colour imaginable.

Across the floating city, Venetians from all walks of life decided to take a breather from their miserable lives, to instead ooh and aah at the breathtaking spectacle taking place miles above their own heads, to put away petty arguments for the time being and partake in the revelry. Masked revellers strolled the streets, the men showing off their talents at the games while the ladies watched from behind their concealing fans. The brothels too, were having a brisk business that night, much to the horror of many a wife.  For tonight was Carnevale, the time for the people to celebrate the city’s wonders and forget their troubles and burdens. But for one man, his worst fears were just starting to materialise.

In the Cannaregio District, a man faltered across the cobbled streets. Donned in a cloak as black as night, he made his way northward, stopping every few yards to catch his pained breath. No concern was given toward the few citizens who watched him with curiosity. If not for the cover of darkness, someone would certainly have screamed in fright, for his shirt had been cut open and was stained red – blood red.

Betrayal. Treachery. Murder. The man’s fists shook with rage and pain even as he clung onto a nearby wall. He had always feared and expected this day to come. Defences had been put in place and allies recruited, but still, all of them had fallen apart in the face of adversaries. Those he had trusted with his life, turned on him. Those who would have stood by his side, killed in their sleep. All the signs were there, but he had never expected them to strike this soon.

With a patrol of militiamen approaching, the cloaked man stumbled into an adjacent alleyway, breathing raggedly as he tightly clutched his open chest. “Just…a little...longer...,” he wheezed, agony striking him mercilessly with each word.

A bloody trail of handprints marked his passage as he limped toward the end of the alley. His bloodstained rapier dragged across the cobblestones, emitting a ominous, piercing squeal that ate away the silence of the quiet district. As he turned the corner, his breath grew a little more relaxed as his destination came into sight. A small, quaint townhouse with a single lit window.

“Home _._ ”

He glanced over his shoulder. It would not be long before they discover he was not among the corpses and came after him.

* * *

 

“ _Madre_ , she doesn’t want to give me back my pillow!”

“It’s mine! You stole it from me last night!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

The mother smiled in wry amusement as she abruptly ended the ongoing battle by pressing a finger on both her children’s lips. The elder sister and younger brother glared daggers at each other as their mother sat on a chair right between their beds.

“Bianca,” she gently said, turning toward her daughter. “Did you take your brother’s pillow?”

“…No,” the girl muttered, her white lie immediately falling apart in her mother’s strong gaze.

“She did!” Her brother interjected.

“Hush, _tigrotto_. Bianca, are you sure?”

Sighing, the girl grabbed her pillow and tossed it to the next bed. It hit the young boy square in the face, a little squeak escaping him as he fell smack onto his back. “He shouldn’t have made fun of me at dinner.”

“But your Focaccia was very, very hard.”

“See!”

“ _Tigrotto_ , be nice to your sister,” cooed the woman. Gently taking her children’s hands, she placed them in each other, much to their horror. “Now, what must you say to each other?”

“Do we have to?” moaned the boy.

“Yes.”

The two children collectively sighed before averting each other’s gaze. “Sorry.”

A sudden chorus of booms drew their attention toward the window. The mother didn’t stop her children from rushing there to see the wonderful display of lights illuminating the heavens. In the skies above the distant Dosoduro district, fireworks flew through the air, exploding in a shower of colours.

“It’s Carnevale!” the girl exclaimed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, _madre_?”

“Yes, it is, _tiggrito_. It always is.”

“Do you think _padre_ can see it?” her son asked.

The room fell strangely silent for a moment. The children did not notice it but their mother wore a worried look. Her husband was one to go out late at night to attend to his own matters, but never this late or this long. She wondered whether she was being too anxious, but it never hurt to be vigilant.

“ _Madre_?”

Realising her children were staring curiously at her, she quickly hid her worry behind a sweet smile. “ _Si_ , he can see it.” She led them both back to the comforts of their bed before climbing in between them. Almost immediately, they snuggled up to her warmth as she wrapped her arms around them.

“ _Madre_ , will you be telling us a story tonight?” asked the daughter.

“Do you want me to? My stories are normally boring.”

“ _Si_ , _madre_.”

“Alright. Let’s see if I can think of one,” smiled their mother. “Have I told you about the Red String of Love?”

“Never.”

“My grandfather told it to me when I was a _piccola_ like you. Far, far away in the East, they believe that their gods attach a red string to two people destined for each other. The string is very strong, it cannot be broken, but eventually, it will bring you and your lover together. Once upon a time, there was a boy who – “

“ _Madre_?”

“ _Si, tiggroto_?”

The boy glanced up at his mother. “I have never seen you and _padre_ tied with a string.”

Laughing, she planted a kiss on both her children’s foreheads. “No, but I was wearing a red dress when I first met your _padre_.”

“Really?”

“ _Si._ My _madre_ thought he was a bad man because he looked fierce. But the fierce face was just a mask. You know your _padre_ , he is fierce to his enemies but kind to us all the time. He still is the same man that I met on Carnevale.”

“Can you tell us how you met him?”

“I was still living in San Marco with _nonno_ and _nonna_ at the time. During Carnevale, I –“

A frantic banging on the door brought her story to an abrupt halt. She motioned her children to stay quiet as she got to her feet. “Stay here,” she whispered to them before descending the stairs to answer the door. Realising that this late night visitor might have nefarious purposes, she grabbed a poker from the hearth to arm herself. She held her breath, preparing herself for anything as she turned the key and pushed open the door.

“Maria!” gasped the cloaked man as he stumbled through the doorway, hands dripping wet with his own blood.

“Mon dio! Ade!” The woman let out a cry of horror at the sight of her badly wounded husband, rushing to help him stand. The metallic stench of blood assaulted Maria’s senses as she led him to a nearby chair. “What in the devil happened to you?”

Wincing, Ade looked up at her, his pained face contorting into one of fear. “Get the kids, get the gold, get everything we will need.”

“Why? What’s going on? We need to take you to a doctor!”

“No time! They are coming!” screamed the man. “We have to go! Now!”

Maria’s eyes widened when the severity of the situation dawned on her. Her husband sadly watched her rush up the stairs to gather her things and her children. He had never wanted this to happen, but fate just had to be cruel to some sometimes.

Gathering up his strength, he rose to his feet and started rummaging through a drawer. His eyes glimmered with relief as he found what he was searching for.

“ _Madre_ , where are we going?”

“Not now, _tigrotto_ ,” choked Maria as she grabbed her children’s hands and led them downstairs.

Ade glanced at the silk purse hanging by her side. “How many ducats?”

“Eighty,” she replied. “Will it be enough for passage?”

Before she could receive an answer, the window shattered. A musketball embedded itself in the woodwork behind her as the door shook under repeated assault. Sinister laughter echoed in the street outside as a group of masked men gathered, the steel of their swords and pistols gleaming cruelly in the light of their torches. Their voices roared, “Come out, Ade! Have you no shame that you hide behind your _puttana’s_ skirt?”

“Ade! What do we do now?”

The man glanced mournfully at his wife and two children. His face was filled with regret and pain. Not from the wound on his chest, but from the realisation what was about to happen. “I’m sorry this had to happen. I wish I could protect you.”

Leaning forward, he pulled his beloved wife into a quiet embrace before kissing her softly on her cheek. “There’s a ship leaving port in a few minutes. It will take you faraway from this cursed place. Take the children. Leave this place. Don’t ever come back.”

“ _Padre_ ,” whispered Bianca shakily. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

“No.” Ade unsheathed his rapier and reached for the loaded flintlock pistol by his side before smiling. “I will only slow you down. But I swear to God and His angels, I will do my best to take all the _bastardo_ outside to damnation with me.”

“Ade…”

“Maria,” mumbled the man as he stroked his fingers through her dark hair. They both refused to say it out aloud, but they knew that these were to be their last moments together. “Go.”

* * *

 

Tears still streaked down Maria’s cheeks as she shoved her way through the crowds of revellers. This was supposed to be a time of great joy and laughter for all, but fate had decided that her family was to not deserve those things that night. Never had she expected such a disaster to befall her family.

“ _Madre_ , let go of me! I have to help _padre_!” screamed Bianca.

“He’s gone! We can’t go back now.”

Her son was slightly calmer, protected by the obliviousness of his age. “ _Madre_ , why is _padre_ not coming with us?”

“ _Tigrotto_ , not now.” Maria doubled her pace into a run when she noticed a gang of pursuers in the distance. The doubt that these brutes would not hurt a woman or a child was swept aside when they somehow spotted her through the crowd and began charging their way toward her.

 The masts of the merchantman almost seemed to be a sign of salvation, being roughly in the shape of the cross. The docks were empty of cargo, meaning that it would be a matter of minutes before they set sail. Maria breathed a sigh of relief, just before; a horrifying realisation shook her to her core.

“Bianca! Bianca! Where are you?!”

Her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Maria sank onto her knees when she suddenly recalled Bianca’s hand wriggling out of her grasp while in the crowd. She cursed herself for not having realised her intentions. The girl must have gone back home to protect her father. And there was no time to stop her.

“ _Madre_! They are coming!” cried her son, pointing at the group of men finally making their way to the edge of the crowd.

Putting aside her grief to protect her remaining child, Maria grabbed him by the hand and rushed toward the ship. The crewmen were just about to pull up the gangplank when she reached it. “Wait! We need immediate passage!” she wailed.

The ship’s captain glanced down curiously from his vessel at the hysterical woman and her son.  “Passage? That will be forty ducats for the both of you.”

“I can pay!” Maria swiftly reached for her purse but an empty piece of silk greeted her hands. She stood motionless, shocked at the sadistic cruelty of fate. In the meantime, a cutpurse was on his way to a bawdyhouse to enjoy his unearned salary of some eighty ducats.

Maria felt a tugging at her skirt. She looked down to meet her son’s frightened eyes. “ _Madre_? I’m scared.”

Her breath slowed, her eyes focused on her pursuers who were coming closer with each passing moment. It wouldn’t be long before they were upon her, and the captain was already motioning to his crew to retrieve the gangplank. She then turned back to her son, her fingers combing through his long, dark hair. Her thumb gently swept aside the frightened tears that were staining his face.

“Don’t be, _tiggroto_ ,” she smiled, her own tears coursing down her face. She then reached for the ring around her finger.

“This ring! It’s pure silver! If you take my son, I’ll let you have it!”

“Deal!”

“ _Madre_?!” cried the boy as his mother lifted him up to the waiting captain. Just before she handed him over, she pressed her forehead against his and kissed her son for the last time. “Be safe, _tigrotto_. I love you so much, my Nico.”

Nico just stared at her, trying to understand, staying speechless even as she continued smiling comfortingly at him. He did not stop staring, even as the ship set sail and left her helplessly at the docks.

Maria di Angelo didn’t see the flash of the pistol before she died. In her final moments on earth, she was still with her children, telling them stories about how she met their father.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thought of leaving behind everything he knew, everything he loved made him feel the pit in the bottom of his stomach. As much contempt he held for the town and people of Swindon, it was still home. A terrible place to call home, but it was home nonetheless. Starting life afresh in a place so far away from the familiarity of the English countryside and from the companionship of friends and family was going to be far harder than he had hoped it to be.
> 
> He took a deep breath. Gazing into the mirror once more, he saw the man that he wanted to be. A soldier who showed no fear or apprehension in doing his duty as his queen and country saw fit. Yet, his own cold blue eyes stared back at him, questioning whether he truly was what he had hoped and aspired to be.
> 
> A furious knock on the door and the coachman’s irritated grumble warned him that any further delay would mean that his journey would begin without him. Lifting his trunk onto his shoulders, Jason took one last look at the room that he had called home for the last ten years. There’s no going back now. With that, he blew out the candle, leaving the place he once called home in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter this week. No action (for now) but as Jason travels westward, the winds will definitely take a change. And perhaps he'll come across a certain pirate along the way...

** Swindon, 1704 **

Jason Grace stood before the mirror, his breaths becoming more laboured as his fears began creeping up on him. All his possessions had been packed neatly into his trunk, the key to his rented room was already in the hands of his landlord, and all the necessary provisions for the long journey were long acquired. Now, all that he had to do was gather up the courage to actually go down to the street, get onto the awaiting coach and begin a journey that he had told himself he had been looking forward to all this while.

Instead, he decided to linger for a little longer, gazing at his own reflection. A young man of twenty-four years stared back. Dressed in a brilliant scarlet regimental coat with golden trimmings and a fitting tricorne on his head, Jason tried to assure himself that everything was alright and there was nothing that was capable of bringing him any worry that fine morning.

_You are lying to yourself. You are scared._

“I’m not scared,” the soldier half-heartedly mumbled for only himself and God to hear. To be given a commission to serve in the colonies seemed to be both a blessing and a curse to him. It could come off as a blessing since deployment in the colonies meant that he would not see much conflict and he would no doubt stand better chances surviving the war years in the West Indies than in the fields of Germany. At the same time, it was a curse as the thought of him leaving the war behind to enjoy a comfortable and safe position in the colonies reeked of utter cowardice.

The thought of leaving behind everything he knew, everything he loved made him feel the pit in the bottom of his stomach. As much contempt he held for the town and people of Swindon, it was still home. A terrible place to call home, but it was home nonetheless. Starting life afresh in a place so far away from the familiarity of the English countryside and from the companionship of friends and family was going to be far harder than he had hoped it to be.

He took a deep breath. Gazing into the mirror once more, he saw the man that he wanted to be. A soldier who showed no fear or apprehension in doing his duty as his queen and country saw fit. Yet, his own cold blue eyes stared back at him, questioning whether he truly was what he had hoped and aspired to be.

A furious knock on the door and the coachman’s irritated grumble warned him that any further delay would mean that his journey would begin without him. Lifting his trunk onto his shoulders, Jason took one last look at the room that he had called home for the last ten years. _There’s no going back now._ With that, he blew out the candle, leaving the place he once called home in darkness.

           

* * *

 

The carriage’s interior was dark except for the occasional ray of the summer sun that peeked in through the parted scarlet curtains. It moved along at a steady pace through the streets of Bristol, parting the crowds as it passed like Moses and the Red Sea. A curious eye or two turned and pried through the windows, taking in the sight of the two passengers inside: a young soldier in his splendid military uniform and his elder sister, dressed in the simple but elegant garments of a duchess’ lady-in-waiting. As they passed the mile marker that indicated they were approaching their destination, the soldier’s eyes kept their focus on the well-made blade that he held in his hands.

This was not the surprise that Jason had wanted to receive on this fine afternoon. Throughout the weeks that had led up to this day, he had hoped that his father would finally make an actual attempt to be just that: a father. Yet, the sword he currently wielded was indeed a very striking weapon of war. He had seen it before, kept in a display just above the fireplace in his father’s office. The tempered steel no longer glimmered as much as when it was recently forged, but its edge remained sharp and deadly. The golden ivory hilt was better polished, with a red string tied around it, perhaps to indicate its ownership. Jason felt in his bones the need to ensure that this sword, his sword, was to serve, protect and uphold the honour of his family. _Somewhere, sometime,_ he thought, _I’ll put it to good use._

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, breaking the air of silence that had accumulated within the carriage. He glanced up to see his sister nodding in agreement, wiping the layer of dust from its scabbard with her handkerchief.

“Father said that it’d be of better use to you than to him,” Lady Grace replied. “He hopes that you will accept it as a parting gift from him, and he greatly regrets not being here in person to see you off.”

Jason did his best to conceal his bitter disappointment, but not so much his cynicism. “He always does try to be there for me, does he not?” he muttered. _Too bitter._ He managed a smile; trying to convince Thalia that he wasn’t furious at his father for never making a presence in his life and that he was just saying that in jest.

Thalia noticed however. A quiet sigh leaving her, she parted the curtains to let the afternoon sunshine fill the carriage with radiant light. By coincidence, the dockyard happened to be in sight in the distance right there and then. Dozens of ships, merchant vessels and warships alike stayed anchored at the docks, flags fluttering in the light breeze.

"He is a man with many, many affairs to attend to,” she began. “I’m quite sure if not for the urgency of his work, he would have made every attempt – “

“Would he?” growled Jason. He curled his gloved fingers into fists, frustration tearing away at the mask of stoicism that he had worn since childhood. “I will have you know that the last time he appeared to me in person, it was two years ago at the Duchess of Kent’s ball and mind you, neither a word nor a glance was shared between us in that brief moment we had together. I pray that you excuse me if I do not regard our father with my kindest of thoughts.”

“He is proud of you though,” said Thalia, with an insisting tone. “24 years of age and already a colonel with a commission to serve in the colonies? This is something that few have been able to accomplish. And I assure you, it’s not only him that has pride in you. I am proud of you and I say with utmost certainty that mother, God bless her soul, would be too.”

Jason’s face softened a little for a moment. Thoughts about his dear departed mother were quite hard to come by and when they did, he sometimes wondered what she would have thought about him if she had lived.

Thalia paused to adjust her brother’s collar. “Look at yourself. Dressed like a dandy man, though I must admit you'd look better without the wig. I can tell you that I know at least ten women who will throw themselves at your feet just to have the opportunity to hold your hand as you pick them up.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Thalia! I’m not some French fop surrounded by a harem of floozies.” chided Jason in jest. “If women start jumping into my path, I will know who to blame.”

“What? I swear I’m telling the truth!” Thalia laughed heartily as she rummaged through her many bags beside her, searching for her surprise gift. A bottle of merlot made its appearance soon enough.

“Nicked from the duchess’ cellar?” Jason asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“She wasn’t going to drink it anyway. Her preferences are not aligned with mine. And she adores a good bottle of gin.” Thalia poured out three full glasses of the precious dark red liquid. One for her brother and two for herself. Holding both glasses in her hands, she smiled widely as she raised them to her brother in a toast. “To your success in all endeavours, to your happiness in all your life and to your victory in all challenges.”

Jason nodded amicably. “I’ll drink to that.”

Not a minute had passed when the coach came to a clattering halt in front of the Neptune, the merchantman that would take Jason to his new home in the West Indies. _Not really befitting its name,_ Jason noted to himself looking at the sea of barnacles that had gathered on the vessel’s underside. Not that it mattered since he wouldn’t be on it for long.

“So, I suppose this is where we part ways then.”

“Yes, I’m afraid.” Thalia smiled sadly as she grabbed her brother’s head to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Take care of yourself, alright? And write to me often. Don’t leave me worried. Because if you do, I swear to the Lord that I’ll go down there and give you a piece of my mind and God help you if I do.”

“Sure you will. Goodbye, Thalia,” Jason half-chuckled, half-choked.

Wiping a tear or two from her eyes, Thalia Grace then smiled and reached out her arms to give her little brother a tight hug. “Goodbye, Jason.”

Then, Jason Grace turned and climbed the gangplank with a renewed air of confidence and boarded the ship that would take him to his new life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stomping his boot on the man’s wrist, Jason received the satisfaction of hearing his opponent cry in pain as he was disarmed of his firearm. He pressed the flintlock’s barrel to the man’s head before dragging him up to his feet.
> 
> ‘Who are you?! What are you planning?!’ Jason demanded.
> 
> The man smiled. His bloody mouth made the smile grotesque, wicked.
> 
> ‘Too late, boy.’ He sputtered. ‘The Captain cometh!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'll try to update weekly but university life sometimes leaves me without time.

Staring into the bowl of what was trying to pass as wheat gruel, Jason finally found his appetite to be lacking. The white lumps of the ‘wheat’ were bobbing around in the milky water, looking quite like the contents of a dying cow’s stomach. For one so used to unsavoury army rations, this was too unappetising even for his standards. At least the regimental cooks had the decency to throw in fresh fruit occasionally.

‘Oh, what I’d do for an apple, right now,’ mumbled Jason as he open the window to feed the fishes his dinner.

After six long weeks at sea, Jason simply could not wait to have his feet back on dry, solid ground. A life at sea was simply was not for him. The constant creaking and groaning of the ship as it struggled against the crest of each wave kept leaving him in a state of unease. To make things even more complicated than they already were, his cabin was small and lacking the most basic of comforts. Considering the price he had to pay for passage, this was simply not worth it, but what could he possibly do about it?

Sighing, he sat down on his bed, his eyes setting their gaze on the setting sun. The sun was already below the horizon, seemingly immersing itself in the cold waters of the Atlantic. Jason wondered how Thalia was faring back home and how the war was going. It just seemed to strange that he was thousands of miles away from Merry Old England, heading to a new land that he had never seen before and had only heard about from outlandish tales from drunken sailors. The many possibilities of what laid ahead in his journey intrigued him.

It would not be long before they reached Nassau. It would not be long before a new phase in his life began. _Perhaps I shall fare better than I expect to._ Despite the fear of change, Jason also felt a strange sense of optimistic hope for a better future. The greatest of heroes always did have to take their leaps of faith before achieving their greatest feats. There was always the possibility that his destiny laid in wait of him in the New World, where a man could be anything he wanted, if he could weather the perilous and treacherous storm.

For quite a while, he just sat there, pensively contemplating what could possibly lay ahead of him. The sound of the crew busy carrying out their final duties before night fell grew softer as his eyes slowly closed. An hour passed, two…He spent those few hours dreaming alternatively of his friends at home and a well-deserved dinner, preferably with a roasted pig as the main course. Jason slept peacefully, lulled by the warmth of the Caribbean sea and the muffled sounds of the waves lapping at the ship’s hull as the crew worked on. But then –

‘Thump!’

Jason’s eyes fluttered open, somewhat annoyed that his brief and relaxing respite had been taken away from him. As he looked upward, another thump shook the planks above him. ‘What in the world?’ he grumbled. Who would be shifting cargo in such dead hours of the night?

Contemplating whether to just ignore the disturbance and go back to sleep, Jason decided that it would not hurt to go for a night stroll and get a breath of fresh air anyway. He struggled to get onto his feet, but managed to make it to the door and out onto the main deck.

The deck was completely deserted, with only the helmsman on duty on that hour. The man raised his arm in greeting to Jason. Jason nodded his head in acknowledgement.

‘Quite a nice night, we’re having!’ said the man.

Jason frowned. He was no seaman but the thick fog that surrounded the ship did not seem especially indicative of a pleasant night.

‘Doesn’t really seem like it. Do we risk running aground at any time soon?’

‘No, sir, no. Smooth sailing ahead for the rest of the night! By the time you wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll already be in…Port Royale!’

Jason’s face relaxed into a small, quiet smile. He ascended the stairs up to the poop deck, leaning against the gunwale with his arms folded.

‘Strange, I was just slumbering in my cabin just now when I was awakened by a loud noise,’ said Jason. ‘Do you happen to know anything about it?’

‘No, sir, no. I’ve been here the whole night and the rest of the boys are below deck, very tired after a good day’s work!’ The man’s rotting teeth exposed themselves as his mouth stretched into a wide grin.

‘Indeed.’ Jason nodded his head; silently taking note of the small specks of scarlet on the man’s stained shirt and the boards under his feet. ‘Say, have you seen Captain Winters around here? I’ve something to enquire of him.’

‘Eh?’

‘Captain Winters. Do you think he’s awake at this hour?’

The man shook his head and laughed nervously. ‘Doubt it. Mister Winters ain’t a night owl. Probably snoring in his crib below deck.’

‘Funny. I’m certain Captain Summers would be very eager to meet this Mister Winters of yours. And also, I was not informed that we have switched course to Port Royale. The last time I checked, we were on our way to Nassau.’

Sighing, Jason treaded over to the man, whose fingers were drifting toward the flintlock that hung on his belt. The soldier stared the man in the face, with a curious smirk on his face.

‘You aren’t a member of this crew, are you?’

Probably realising his cover was long blown, the man drew his pistol but lacked the time to discharge it as Jason connected his fist to the man’s broad jaw with enough force to send some blackened teeth flying. The man fell to his knees, bleeding profusely from the mouth and too stunned to even react.

Stomping his boot on the man’s wrist, Jason received the satisfaction of hearing his opponent cry in pain as he was disarmed of his firearm. He pressed the flintlock’s barrel to the man’s head before dragging him up to his feet.

‘Who are you?! What are you planning?!’ Jason demanded.

The man smiled. His bloody mouth made the smile grotesque, wicked.

‘Too late, boy.’ He sputtered. ‘The Captain cometh!’

Before Jason had time to react to the man’s strange words, a barrage of grappling hooks shot out of the fog and clanged onto the ship’s bulwarks. Just then, the hatch that led to below deck swung open, with an alerted Captain Summers leaving his mouth agape as he realised the severity of the situation.

‘Prepare to repel boarders!’

A ship emerged from the fog, just a few feet away from the Neptune, approaching it fast. The black flag that fluttered from the top of its main mast told all he needed to know about its crew. Pirates.

Two boarding planks laid in wait as the pirate crew brandished their weapons in preparation for the imminent bloodshed. Their helmsman steered the ship alongside the Neptune, slamming into it with brutal force that sent many a sailor sprawling into the deck.

Wasting no time watching the boarding planks being laid down, Jason leapt over the railing onto the main deck before racing into his cabin. His sword was still sheathed in its scabbard, hanging on a hook next to his bed. Reaching for it, he unsheathed it. Its clean sharp blade shined in the dim light of the cabin. _Finally, a time to put it to good use._

Just as he turned to join the battle raging outside, two pirates forced their way into his cabin, cutlasses drawn.

‘Well, well, what do we have here, Pete? A boy from Queen Anne’s army!’

Jason tightened his grip around his sword hilt. If he wanted to, he could have killed both of them where they stood, but there was still a need to offer mercy to those about to die. ‘I’m going to offer you two an opportunity. Lay down your arms and you both will walk out of this room alive.’

‘Who do you think you are?!’ laughed the second pirate. ‘Two against one, mate. No way you’re winning this.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’ Jason raised his sword and silently beckoned them to come at him. At that, both pirates rushed at him.

It was a weapon he was not truly acquainted with, but having wielded several swords in the past years, this one was the most light and capable in his hand. Jason parried the first thrusts, right and left, taking care not to allow any one of the two into his undefended blind spot.

Stepping to one side, he crouched and avoided the wild slash from the pirate named Pete before slicing into the unfortunate man’s knee joint. The pirate collapsed, howling in pain before being silenced as Jason stabbed his blade into the man’s throat. The man struggled for a moment, blood gurgling out of the slit in his neck, before falling still.

‘You’ll pay for that, you dog!’ The first pirate came forward with a roar, murder in his eyes.

Jason simply allowed him to lunge at him, and at the last moment, stepped back and tripped him, swinging his sword calmly and with great force at the man’s neck as he fell. By the time the body collapsed onto the ground, the pirate’s severed head had already rolled off into a dark corner.

For a few seconds, Jason knelt trembling in the abrupt silence that followed the melee, his breathing laboured. These were not the first killings in his life, but shooting someone from a distance and decapitating an enemy up close were two different matters altogether. The coppery smell of blood was also not very pleasant to the senses.

The sensation was exhilarating but also downright terrifying. He actually felt a pang of guilt. Did these men have loved ones? How were they to react at these men’s deaths? His shoulders sagged as he got to his feet. _You are a soldier. Death is supposed to be your trade._

Bursting out onto the main deck, Jason found himself facing about a dozen levelled muskets. The pirate crew gritted their teeth at him as they realised the fate of their two crewmates. Captain Summers and his men knelt morosely on the deck, their hands tied behind their backs and pistols pointed at their heads. Jason was thankful to see the entire crew was alive. Wounded and battered but all still breathing.

‘Another step, _soldatino_ , and the good Captain Summers dies.’ A deep voice rumbled from within the crowd. The planks shook with each slow and evidently heavy step the speaker took.

The pirates parted to let a cloaked man through. Jason’s heart skipped a beat as he raised his head to stare the man in the eye. Towering over most at an intimidating eight feet, the pirate captain’s face was concealed by a hideous wooden mask, resembling that of a demon from hell with its permanently stretched evil grin. Whether to conceal his identity or to hide a grotesque disfigurement, the mask did succeed in actually unnerving Jason. The only evidence of the humanity that laid behind the mask was the man’s dark brown eyes that stared right at the soldier.

‘Lay down your weapon. No one else has to die tonight,’ the man or demon growled at Jason.

Jason’s gaze steeled. ‘Filthy pirate scum. You shall all hang for this heinous crime one day,’ Jason muttered aloud.

‘Maybe, but not today.’ The captain circled around the soldier like a wolf, his eyes never leaving Jason’s. ‘So, make your choice. A man’s life - or your sword.’

Resisting the urge to run his sword through the man’s chest, Jason let his bloodied sword fall onto the deck. The man paused and motioned one of his men to pick it up and wipe it clean for him. Jason bit his lip hard, seething in pure fury as he watched his family’s keepsake in the hands of a pirate.

The pirate examined the sword closely, admiring the metalwork and the ivory hilt. ‘It’s beautiful. Now, it seems you have killed two of my men, correct?’

‘They deserved it,’ growled Jason.

‘Perhaps, but my crew does not agree and would like your head in return.’

‘They can try.’

‘But luckily for you, I’m feeling merciful today.’ Jason watched horrified as the pirate buckled on the sword. ‘I’ll be taking your sword as a price instead As well as the ship’s cargo of course!’

‘You fucking bastard!’ Jason tried to charge at the captain but was immediately knocked down by the helmsman, a rather intimidatingly big man himself.

‘It’s a wonder, isn’t it?’ mumbled the captain. ‘Hard to find a blade with such beauty these days. You shall be spared. It’d be a shame to spoil that pretty face of yours.’

Jason stood and faced him, his face darkened with rage. ‘Mark my words, sir. I will remember this as long as I live and you shall curse me on your death bed. I swear this to God!’

Under the mask, the captain actually smiled at his victim’s impressive defiance. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ With that, he and his crew crossed the gangplank back onto their ship and in a matter of minutes, they were out of sight, having disappeared into the fog.

Out of the sight of a man determined to retrieve his family’s heirloom no matter what it entailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we'll be meeting a certain cousin of Jason Grace, long established in the colonies and eager to meet his relative. Kudos to those who guess correctly!
> 
> All kudos and comments are warmly appreciated. If you like it, click the 'Kudos' button below! Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘It’s good to stay cautious, always. Especially here in Nassau.’ The navy man tossed Jason his money pouch. ‘It’s been a long time, but boy, am I more than glad to have you here, Jason.’
> 
> Jason turned toward the stranger, eyebrows raised. Staring at the man’s face, he found that those distinctive sea green eyes and rakish smile were reminiscent of someone, he could not think of whom.
> 
> ‘Do I happen to know you from somewhere, sir?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two characters we know and love make their way into this story. Kudos to those who guess correctly. Cheers! :D

The stained, tattered remains of what used to be the Union flag fluttered in the light breeze, flown from a parapet of Fort Nassau. The fort must have been quite the imposing figure, looming over the harbour like a sentinel of sorts. _Not anymore though._ Jason noted that both Nassau and its fort bore the scars of war. Entire segments of wall were pocked with holes, no doubt caused by a barrage of French and Spanish cannonballs. The lack of cannon on the gun emplacements was also quite telling. For its intimidation value, Fort Nassau was effectively a toothless tiger.

Jason was not really considering the fort’s strategic value at the moment, however. He stood at the ship’s prow, watching the waves gently brush against the hull. While his face and voice remained as composed and gentlemanly possible, he was hiding a seething fury. A dark cloud had been looming over his head constantly ever since the attack.  He was furious. Furious at himself for not being able to defend and protect his family heirloom, furious at God for allowing fate to take such a bad turn, but most of all, furious at the masked criminal who was the cause of all his woes.

Even as the Neptune dropped anchor and its crew laid down the gangplank, Jason’s fists remained clenched. His fury was slowly boiling inside of him, as he considered the many things he would do once he found the lowlife who had spirited away his sword _. It won’t end well for him once I hunt him down_ , Jason assured himself as he lifted his trunk onto his shoulders and descended the gangplank.

Turning his gaze toward the town and harbour, Jason felt his mood lighten a little at the beautiful sight. ‘Wow,’ he quietly exclaimed. Sure, no doubt that the town was essentially a slum of shanty houses, but heaven would strike him down if he denied that the stretch of purest blue ocean across the harbour and the accompanying white sands were not a sight to behold.

Having been to Paris before the war, Nassau proved to be quite the interesting contrast. The artistic architecture of the French capital was certainly nice to look at, but Nassau had a certain quaintness to it, despite the lack of proper housing or brick buildings for that matter. _A city of shack and tents_ , Jason concluded. He hoped that his own housing was not to be in some measly shack.

Whilst contemplating his next course of action, fate decided to take another turn. A lithe, young boy suddenly appeared from nowhere and bumped into him.

‘Oh! Forgive me, sir!’ chirped the lad cheerfully, smiling before moving swiftly past him.

A sixth sense and some instinct convinced Jason to move his hand toward his money pouch; a pouch that was currently in the grubby hands of the pickpocket.

‘Stop, thief!’ roared Jason. He tried to give chase but it is a generally ill-advised move to pursue someone when you have a heavy trunk on your shoulders. Jason could not just drop his trunk to chase the boy. It would be even likelier that all his possessions would go missing if he did so, spirited away by the venue of human vultures that had gathered to spectate. A wave of futile rage swept over Jason as he helplessly watched the boy double his pace.

Then, a man who had so far stood on the sidelines watching the commotion leapt into action, sprinting swiftly and pouncing, tackling the boy into the dirt and wrestling away the pouch from him.

‘Not today, James,’ the man growled as he gave the boy a quick slap on the back of the head before letting him off.

‘Oh, thank God!’ gasped Jason, relieved to have a guardian angel. He approached the man who was noticeably garbed in the blue coat of the Royal Navy, a welcome sight to the soldier desperate to meet someone with authority. ‘Thank you, sir! You have no clue how much I owe you for this!’

‘It’s good to stay cautious, always. Especially here in Nassau.’ The navy man tossed Jason his money pouch. ‘It’s been a long time, but boy, am I more than glad to have you here, Jason.’

Jason turned toward the stranger, eyebrows raised. Staring at the man’s face, he found that those distinctive sea green eyes and rakish smile were reminiscent of someone, he could not think of whom.

‘Do I happen to know you from somewhere, sir?’

‘Oh, Christ!’ exclaimed the man excitedly to no one in particular. ‘He really doesn’t recognise me! Admittedly, it’s been ten long years, but you can’t seriously have forgotten that time we had with the cannon and the cake!’

The mention of the Birmingham incident made something click inside Jason’s head. ‘Cousin Percy?’

‘The same! Boy, have you grown into a strong, fine young man!’ Percy grinned widely as he grabbed his cousin and pulled him into a hug. ‘It’s been too long, Jason. Didn’t you remember that my family was living here?’

‘Well, to be honest, no. But how did you happen to be here just as I arrived?’

‘A month or two ago, Thalia wrote to me to notify me of your commission and your impending arrival. She didn’t tell you? Well, bugger. No matter though. So you’re a colonel now, aye?’

‘Yes. And it seems that I’m not the only one climbing up the ranks,’ said Jason.

‘True, but what use is a captain without his ship?’ For a moment, Percy’s face soured as he muttered a vulgar curse or two against the bureaucratic inefficiency of the Navy Board. ‘But I’ll talk about that later. Come, walk with me! You can board in my home as long as you want. I trust you had a safe, uneventful journey on your way here?’

Jason’s lip tightened. ‘I’m afraid not.’

* * *

 

Jason had never felt so relieved to finally be able to feast his eyes and better, his stomach on good, solid and edible food. The pot of leftover mutton stew was a good change from the bowls of alleged gruel served on the Neptune. He ate the stew hungrily, along with some bread and cheese. Percy had also brought in a strange fruit, the size of a human head, but filled with cooling water and white jelly.

‘The Portuguese call it _coco_ ,’ he explained to Jason who took a few sips out of the fruit. It was definitely an acquired taste to Jason, but it was not that bad at all, especially when it was far more refreshing than the stale water served on the Neptune.

‘So, what’s your plan? Go after this masked pirate of yours?’

‘Indeed,’ said Jason. He had made his decision the moment his sword was taken from him. ‘I’ll find him, take back what is mine, and bring him before the courts to face justice.’

‘Easier said than done,’ interjected Percy. ‘Do you even know where you will find him?’

Jason shook his head. ‘Do you?’

Percy looked thoughtful. ‘I have heard things. Never encountered him in person, but I know he doesn’t operate out of Nassau, because if he does, I would have heard of it. The Spaniards call him _La Muerte Invisible._ The Unseen Death. Other than that he operates around the Bahamas, I cannot tell you more.’

‘Do you know who can then?’

Before Percy could answer, a calm and feminine voice called from upstairs. ‘I do.’

Jason’s eyes drifted toward the staircase. A woman of class and elegance was descending. She must have been about the same age as him and slightly younger than Percy. Her golden hair, carefully braided reminded him of someone as did her grey eyes. Her face too, invoked some long forgotten memories. ‘I believe I can be of assistance.’

‘Ah, Jason, let me introduce you to my –‘

‘– childhood sweetheart. Lady Annabeth Chase. What a surprise!’ mused Jason, wondering if Percy was intending to keep or had kept his promise of marrying her that Percy had made when he was ten.

‘Wife, actually. We’ve been happily married for three years now,’ corrected Annabeth.

‘See, I told you, Jason! I told you that I’d marry her some day!’ Percy rose from his seat to plant an affectionate kiss on her cheek before leading her to the table.

‘I’m impressed,’ admitted Jason, genuinely.

Annabeth laughed. ‘He took quite a while. But he eventually found the courage to ask the question, after two aborted attempts.’

‘It was just one,’ grumbled Percy.

‘Two. One in Scotland and the other on my father’s birthday. But anyway,’ She paused to turn to her husband. ‘Dear, would you be so kind to bring the collection chest down from the attic?’

‘The entire thing?’

‘The entire thing.’ She turned back toward Jason as Percy headed upstairs. ‘Would be I wrong to say that you’re surprised to see us together?’

Jason nodded. ‘Admittedly so. But I’m glad that you are.’

‘He can be quite the dolt at times, but he’s a good man and he tries his best to stay that way. Whatever mess he leaves behind, I clear up after him. And for the mistakes I make, rare as they may be, he will clear up for me in return.’

‘You seem quite the pair.’

‘Oh, we fight. A lot. Sometimes with me not speaking to him for an entire day or two. But we’ll eventually come around to admit our faults. No point prolonging the pain. But enough about me.’ Annabeth clapsed her hands together. ‘I also hear that you have been the unfortunate victim of a heist of sorts.’

Jason’s mood darkened a little. ‘True. My ship was boarded by pirates. I would have killed them all if not for the fact that the one Percy called The Unseen Death took my ship’s captain hostage. It was either my sword or the captain’s life. I had no choice.’

‘You did the right thing. Saving a life is the one thing that is worth giving up your own.’

‘Maybe, but do you happen to know his whereabouts?’

‘I don’t,’ said Annabeth. ‘But I know who would. If there’s a universal truth, it would be to stay away from beggars when sharing sensitive information. They hear far more than they need to.’

Jason fought down his intrigue. ‘I should turn to the beggars for information?’

‘Yes. They won’t talk for free though. Loosen their lips with a piece of gold or two and maybe a round of drinks. Once that’s done, they will tell you everything that you will need to know.’

Studying Annabeth’s face for a moment, Jason realised with a mental jolt that this unassuming woman held far more secrets and had far more intelligence than anyone he had met in his life. It could also be safely assumed that becoming her enemy would be a living nightmare.

His thoughts were disturbed by the loud descent of Percy, bearing a large iron chest in his arms. Jason helped to clear the table and provided a space to place the chest. Peering inside, Jason’s eyes widened. An entire armoury of weapons, blades and firearms alike, was kept within.

‘My father is a weapons collector,’ explained Annabeth. ‘If you’re going after this pirate of yours, it’s safe to assume that it’s best that you go armed.’

Percy reached in and dragged out an intimidating longsword that could easily skewer a bull. ‘Make your choice. We’ve a Russian battle axe, a scythe from Poland, a Venetian schiavona, a Scottish claymore, a Roman gladius –‘

‘Which would you choose?’ asked Jason, spoilt for choice but actually somewhat yearning to take the battle axe.

‘I use a cutlass myself. But unfortunately, I can’t spare you mine. I would go for the Spanish sabre if I were you. Not a very long reach, but once you get within range, you will be hacking and cutting your foes into very bloody ribbons.’

Jason reached into the chest and gripped the sabre’s hilt. It was slightly heavier than his own sword, and the blade lacked polish and shine, but it would have to do. He gave it a few practice swings and it did indeed cut gracefully through the air.

‘Here, take this,’ said Annabeth as she attached an ornate pistol and a pouch of powder and shot onto Jason’s belt. ‘An Ottoman flintlock. Produced by one of the best gunsmiths in Constantinople. It doesn’t miss easily and has served me well.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, Lady Chase, you surprise me with your knowledge of such unladylike matters,’ Jason admitted.

Percy turned solemn while his wife gave a sad smile. By way of an answer, she pulled down his collar and exposed his bare neck, marred by a single long, dark scar across his throat.

‘Not many would agree, but in this dangerous world, we women must learn to fend for ourselves to protect not only us, but our loved ones too.’

‘May you find what you’re searching for,’ said Percy.

Jason nodded. He left his cousin’s house with his admiration and respect of Percy but most especially, Annabeth increased tenfold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You’ve been following me for some time now,’ said the man quietly.
> 
> ‘Umm, what?’ muttered Jason, trying to look incredulous. ‘Look I’ve no idea what you’re –‘
> 
> He paused when he felt the cold steel blade of a knife prodding against his abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I was working on another work last week. I'll try my best to add a chapter weekly, but you never know when life throws up stuff at you...Happy April Fool's Day! But this ain't a joke chapter though. Cheers!

‘You’re saying that you know something,’ said Jason, quietly. He sat in the corner of the tavern next to a man that he had been told knew far more than he was supposed to.

The man nodded. He emptied his mug of ale before turning to face the soldier and smiled. Then, he slid the mug across the bar to Jason. ‘Maybe. But who knows? Maybe another pint of good ale might help my memory?’ he grinned.

Something about the man’s knowledgeable eyes told Jason that this lead might actually lead somewhere for once. Thus, he signalled and the barkeeper brought a fresh jug of frothy ale. Another piece of gold was laid on the bar which quickly disappeared into the barkeeper’s pocket. Jason watched as the bearded man dabbed at his stained mouth with a grubby, filthy rag and reached for the ale. ‘So, you seek La Muerte Invisible?’

‘I do,’ said Jason with his eagerness obvious. ‘I was robbed of something valuable to me and I wish to retrieve it whatever the cost.’

'Pfft! Whatever the cost,’ snorted the man. ‘I wouldn’t be too surprised if that cost involves your head being parted from your shoulders. I wouldn’t recommend going after him. He doesn’t like to be found.’

‘I do not care for what he likes or dislikes,’ Jason growled. ‘Just tell me who he is and where can I find him.’

The old man blinked and paused with his mug halfway to his mouth. ‘Who he is? Well, that’s difficult, since no one has really seen him in person, least of all, me. He could be literally anyone in this room and I wouldn’t know anything about it. And that’s probably for my own good.’

Upon hearing that, Jason levelled a glowering look at the man. ‘So, you’re now saying you know nothing.’

‘I didn’t say that!’ cried the man, noticing Jason’s clenched fist was a little too close to his sword for his own comfort. ‘I mean, I can't pick him out from a pen of pigs, but I can definitely tell you a thing or two about him. Like how he got his name!’…

'...Go on.’

‘He’s quite a newcomer to these waters, only making his first appearance maybe some two years ago. The Spaniards got the honour of naming him, since they were his first victims.’ The man scratched his beard, shifted on his stool and half closed his eyes. ‘The Santo Tomas was a treasure galleon, carrying gold from the Peruvian mountains. Powerful, she was, with her 60 guns. Still, somehow, the crew never realised that La Muerte Invisible had struck until dawn, when they found they were lacking the helmsman and their captain. The poor captain was still in his cabin, bent over his charts, throwing knife stuck firmly in his back. All the treasure, every coin, jewel, gem, gone.’

'Did they go after him?’ queried Jason. ‘Wouldn’t they have immediately hunted him down?’

The bearded man threw back his head and laughed. ‘Hunt him down? They couldn’t even pin him down. He doesn’t let people find him, he’s the one who does the hunting, not them.’ He chuckled and supped his beer. ‘Of course, by chance, a Spanish sloop or two did stumble across his ship, but in all cases, they were found adrift in the open sea days later, with half the crew missing and the remaining half babbling loonies.’

'He drove them all mad?’ Jason asked.

Just as he was about to answer, the man stopped to stare out the window. A cart laden with fish and fresh produce was passing by, its wheels creaking and groaning loudly under the weight. The brown mule that pulled it stopped right in its tracks for a moment before being urged onwards by the driver.  Jason wondered what had caught the man’s eye, until he noticed the cart driver was wearing a hood over his head. A strange sight indeed in this town. Once the cart had moved on, the bearded man turned his head back to face Jason.

‘Mad with fear, aye! They all spoke of a masked demon, with a necklace of human teeth and a voice so deep and cold that it could only belong to those who come from beneath us. If there’s anything I can say of him, it’s that he knows how to build his reputation.’

‘So, now I know who he is,’ said Jason. He then leaned in close enough to notice the fleas making their home in the man’s beard. ‘Now, do you know where I can find him?’

‘Nay,’ the old man said and took a long drink of his ale. ‘But on market day, a member of his crew will come down to the town for supplies.’

'You’re suggesting that I get Death’s location out of him.’

'Doubt he would talk,’ said the man. ‘Not really, just tail him back to his master.’

'And when’s market day here?’

The bearded man grinned widely, his toothless gums a sight to behold. ‘Today.’

Jason could feel his heart raced as he realised that his search was finally bearing fruit. ‘And where can I find this crewman?’

Excitement shined in the bearded man’s eyes that glowed in the yellow light of the candles. ‘He just passed by this window a minute ago.’

Jason looked at the window, then at the man, the window again. He held his breath.

‘The cart driver.’

The bearded man smiled and raised his mug.

Running out onto the dusty street, Jason looked around to see whether the cart was within his sights. It was, but at quite a distance away and it was growing ever smaller by the second. Just as about he was to break into a sprint, Jason realised that tailing someone while dressed in a very, very prominent bright red uniform was not much of a bright idea. Once his hat and coat were kept away in a discarded sack and his face smudged with ash, Jason took off in pursuit of the cart and the sailor driving it, shadowing him all the way out of Nassau.

Jason did his best to move like a shade among the crowds and the stalls, striving to keep the cart within his sight as it made its way down the road which led in the westward direction of the island. Through some means though, the cart driver seemed to suspect that he was being followed. Without warning at times, he stopped his cart to glance behind him, almost as if he was scanning the crowd for someone. Jason, keeping a safe distance between his target and himself, aware as he was of the cart driver’s extreme vigilance, kept his head down each time and escaped detection.

'Hold, boy,’ the crewman said as he leapt off his cart. He and his animal had arrived at a small pier. A ferry barge was in the distance, slowly sailing toward it. Keeping in the shadows a good distance away, Jason watched the man walk off and disappear into a shed where a family was waiting for the ferry’s arrival. _He’s going to make a crossing to Andros island,_ Jason realised. He was wondering whether to take the same ferry with his target and risk raising suspicions or take another and risk losing the cart altogether. He was still weighing his choices when he heard a terrified cry somewhere in the jungle behind – one from a woman in very obvious distress.

'Ayudame! Por favor! Alguien ayúdeme!’ cried a young woman, of Iberian features, as an angry mob pursued her, hatchets and rope in hand. She ran fast, but they ran faster and caught her, throwing a noose around her neck and dragging the hapless lady to a nearby tree, a makeshift gallows.

The chivalrous side of Jason immediately yearned to investigate and likely, save the damsel, but he turned to see that the ferry had already docked with the cart driver paying the fare to the ferryman. He simply couldn't spare the time to save the woman and also keep his eyes on his target. _But then…_

‘Oh, God damn it all!’ he growled before turning around to save the woman.

‘No soy un espía! Por favor! Soy inocente!’ The woman was still screaming herself hoarse even as the mob tossed the rope around a sturdy branch and began to lift her off into the ground and into the air.

Another man, also with looks similar to a Spaniard with dark curls and tanned skin, presumably her partner, was running around frantically, trying to hold her up so that she could breathe. The crowd pushed him away each time. ‘Tener compasión! Por favor!’ he shouted.

Jason knew he did not have much time. And he was lacking the patience to negotiate, considering how he had just lost his chance to continue his chance. There was no turning back now. He unleashed his pistol from his belt and as it went into his grip, aimed into the air and fired.

The rope snapped and the unfortunate lady fell onto the ground, her neck red with strangulation marks, but definitely alive. The crowd immediately turned to face Jason, who could not understand how he had cut through the rope when he had not even aimed for it. Then, he noticed the throwing knife embedded in the tree branch.

The cart driver stood right next to him, his hood down for once, staring right at him, right into his eyes as he knew who and what he was. On his side, Jason quickly took note of the man’s features. His olive skin was long sunburned, as was to be expected of a sailor, but he did not seem to be Spanish. His dark hair was tied in an oddly neat ponytail. Most noticeable were his dark brown eyes which seemed strangely familiar but he lacked the height to be the man he was searching for, considering how Jason was currently looking down at him.

‘Well, aren’t you going to defuse the situation?’ asked the man, cocking his head toward the angry mob that was slowly advancing on them.

‘Oh, oh, right.’ Jason quickly turned to the crowd and straightened his back. ‘Alright! What’s the meaning of all this then?’

The Spanish woman aided up by her companion quickly ran over to his side. ‘Gracias! Muchas gracias!’

‘That whore over there is a bloody spy for the Spaniards!’ cried one man.

‘Her husband too!’ shouted another.

‘Why are you defending her? And who the fuck are you?!’ yelled a portly woman.

Jason was just about to identify himself by rank when he realised that he could not give away his identity to the man he had been tailing a few minutes ago. With his options limited, the soldier was forced to resort to his blade.

‘Who I am is none of your business,’ he growled, the tip of his sabre and barrel of his gun keeping the crowd away from him and the Spaniards. ‘The accusation you make is a rather severe one, and they do deserve death should you be proven right. Now, where’s your evidence?’

A man who smelt of fish held up a yellowing piece of parchment and a flintlock pistol. ‘Found this among her belongings. Can’t read, but it’s a code sheet.’

‘If you can’t read, how can you tell it’s a code sheet?’ the cart driver asked with a sneer.

The fishy man smiled meekly and scratched his head. ‘Well, it looks like one.’

‘Just hand it over here,’ sighed Jason.

His eyes narrowed when they scanned the parchment. Oddly enough, it did look quite like a code sheet, since it was filled with nothing but numbers arranged in no particular order. _Perhaps they are spies._ He turned toward the Spaniards. ‘Do you speak English?’

‘Perdón?’

The cart driver knelt down onto his haunches next to them. ‘Hablas italiano?’

The Spanish man hesitated for a moment, much to his companion’s annoyance. ‘Si.’

'Ask them to explain this,’ said Jason, parchment in hand.

A conversation was muttered out between the cart driver and the Spaniards who spoke in broken Italian. Jason was wondering how was he to follow the driver now that they had met when the man spoke up. ‘Measurements. Clothing measurements.’ He got to his feet and beckoned them to leave. ‘They are travelling tailors from New Spain. They were on their way to Havana when the war broke out and they are stranded here for now.’

'Ah! Thank you,’ said Jason, before he turned back toward the crowd. ‘Now, you see –‘ He then realised that the crowd had long dispersed, having had their playthings taken away from them, and he was now alone with –

‘You’ve been following me for some time now,’ said the man quietly.

‘Umm, what?’ muttered Jason, trying to look incredulous and flustered at the very accurate accusation. ‘Look I’ve no idea what you’re –‘

He paused when he felt the cold steel blade of a knife prodding against his abdomen.

‘Why?’ the man asked, his voice calm but his face darkened.

Jason bit his lip, thinking quickly of an excuse not to get knifed in the gut. ‘I was told you serve onboard La Muerte Invisible’s ship.’

The man frowned. ‘I do. But what is that to you?’

Leaning down, Jason spoke in a low voice so no one could overhear. ‘I intend to do the same.’

A cynical smile made its way up the man’s face. ‘You wish to join his crew?’

Jason nodded and smiled back, convincingly innocent enough. ‘I’m good with the sword. Not so much with guns, but I can handle.’

‘I know.’ The knife returned back to its sheath. ‘What’s your name, my man?’

'Umm…Jason. Jason Grace.’

‘Jason. Huh. We’ll see if the captain takes a liking to you. But for that, you’ll have to come with me.’ The man then began walking away toward the waiting ferry. He turned his head around when he noticed that Jason was not following him. ‘Oi! You coming or not?!’

‘I am, I am!’ yelled Jason as he broke into a sprint and boarded the ferry. He looked down at his quarry, now his travelling companion. ‘By the way, what do I call you?’

The man thought pensively for a moment. ‘Just call me Nico.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and warmly welcomed. Like it, dislike it, have problems with it? Comment below! Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guineas streamed loudly onto the ground. The Chevalier’s speech had ground to a halt as the spectators began to turn and stare right at the boy, not yet comprehending what had happened. The boy realised that he was out of time and started to back away into the crowd.
> 
> The woman’s shrill voice rang out, ‘Thief!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have plenty of time this week thanks to my mid-term break. Might churn out a chapter or two to make up for lost time. Also, this is a flashback, so don't get chronologically confused!

**Nassau, 1693**

‘Ladies and gentleman,’ the portly gentleman cried. ‘Do you wish to spectate a feat of great skill? Have you ever wished to see a man with the martial prowess of mystical Eastern warriors before your very eyes? Why wait any further when you can watch me, the great Chevalier d’Menteur, throw deadly sharp daggers with incredible accuracy and precision? I have journeyed far and wide to the Far East, and during my travels, I picked up the arts of the deadly assassins. Stones, darts, knives, bullets, you name it, I can throw blindfolded!’

‘Rubbish!’ someone calls from the crowd around him.

‘ _Connerie_!’ yells another. ‘You don’t even sound French! More like _un écossais_! Which province are you from, _vous le morceau de merde_?’

As the crowd murmured among themselves in disbelief of the claimed French knight’s martial talents, a scruffy, young boy slipped undetected into the crowd, passing himself off as an innocent bystander who had no ill-intentions whatsoever. He did however stop to glance at the Chevalier, a man in his late-sixties, looking a tad bit ridiculous in his bright red waistcoat that was definitely meant for a leaner man and an oversized puffy white wig.

‘Ah! We have a disbeliever! Two disbelievers, in fact! Oh, _mon amici_ –‘

‘Isn’t _amici_ Italian?’

‘I mean _ami_! Well, my dear disbelieving sirs, what must I do to prove my talents to you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do!’ But for that, I’ll require a volunteer! A brave man who’s willing to place his faith in me! Or if the men lack the balls for it, maybe a woman may show the way!’

The boy noticed a woman with her shopping basket uncovered, her attention fully diverted toward the Frenchman. Her purse laid wedged between two loaves of bread. Silently, the boy began to make his way toward her.

On the stage, the Chevalier reached into a picnic basket and pulled out a clutch of nuts. ‘I have here some chestnuts. Dried out and untampered with. So, still hard to crack. If anyone tried to crack them with their bare hands, it would take a great effort, would it not?’

There is a great muttering amongst the crowd. At the moment, the young boy was hungrily chewing away on a bread loaf and hiding away a recently acquired purse in his pocket. The crowd then agreed that the nuts were untampered with and thus, still incredibly hard.

‘My great skill will crack every nut with each thrown knife. Now, can I have a volunteer to hold up these nuts for me? Some brave lad? Come on now! Are you all not brave men of the sea?’ The Chevalier turned to the man who shouted ‘Rubbish!’ and beckoned to him. The man turned his head away in disdain and stormed off. As some people watched him leave, the thief moved swiftly past them emptying their purses with the help of a small knife.

‘ _Bien_. I shall pay someone _ten pence_ if they will allow me to place a chestnut on their head, on their hands, between their legs and between their teeth. _Personne_? _Twenty_ pence, then? _Oh cher_! I’m offering _one shiny shilling_ plus a free bottle of rum – worth a lot more to you, seadogs! Do I have a volunteer?’

The boy paused to consider volunteering for the money, but he had little faith in the Chevalier’s throwing skills. In addition, he had already garnered some sixteen shillings from the crowd’s torn purses. He moved on, looking for bigger game.

A shabby drunk seaman stumbled his way onto the stage and belched. ‘I’ll do it for the rum,’ he slurred.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for this gallant and courageous lad!’

The crowd clapped politely. The noise of their clapping drew more attention from the folk of Nassau, bringing in more spectators to the show. A windfall for the boy thief. Everyone was hooked on the performance, allowing him to take away a good sum today.

The Chevalier struggled to get the volunteer to stand up straight with his hand outstretched. After some time, he somehow succeeded and the sailor stood gormlessly, looking utterly ridiculous with one of the nuts between his thighs. ‘I shall now blindfold myself and I’ll have the crowd inspect the cloth to maintain that I employ no deception. But don’t worry, my dear sir! I am a highly trained professional with many years of experience to my name!’

The boy paid off another younger lad who had spotted his crimes to keep his mouth shut. His eyes then turned toward an immaculately-dressed woman, the coins jingling loudly in her very exposed belt-purse. He smiled. Payday really had arrived for him.

Blindfolded, the Chevalier wrapped his hand around the first knife’s hilt. ‘One shilling,’ he promised. ‘Just for standing there and not moving.’

The sailor, now slightly sober and realising what he had gotten himself into, closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer to his patron saint. He swallowed nervously. The crowd gasped and waited.

The wealthy woman had pushed her way to the front. An unfortunate matter for the thief. Stealing from her would mean risking exposure by the people behind her. Trying to be pragmatic, he considered leaving and disappearing into the alleys, since he had made a tidy sum today, but greed can be quite the misguider.

‘One!’ The knife flew gracefully through the air and slammed into the chestnut atop the sailor, miraculously cracking it. The crowd whooped and cheered.

Carefully, the boy approached his target.

‘Two! Three!’ This time, The Chevalier threw two knives simultaneously, shattering the nuts held in the sailor’s hands.

‘Bravo!’ the crowd roared. Any doubt of the man’s abilities was now mostly gone. Now all that remained was the potentially lethal but very exciting entertainment. The Chevalier’s feathered hat laid on the ground, upside down and slowly but most certainly filling up with coins. As for the sailor, he grinned nervously, happy that his face and hands had been spared for now.

Pretending to be entranced by the performance, the boy squeezed in between two spectators to end up right next to the woman.

The Chevalier held his next knife in the air, its blade gleaming brightly in the hot afternoon sun. ‘What next? Aim at that handsome smile or _mon ami’s_ manhood?’

Some laughed loudly. ‘His manhood! Unman the silly bugger!’

The sailor mumbled incoherently and shook his frightened head. ‘The mouth! Then, the manhood!’ someone shouts. Others join in, ‘For God’s sake, the manhood for the happy ending!’

The boy drew his blade. He suspected that cutting the purse from her waist was too risky an endeavour and instead chose the safer option of cutting a small hole through the silk cloth.

Loudly, the crowd cheered as the knife found its target. The nut in the man’s mouth stayed intact with the knife stuck in it before he spat it out. The Chevalier smiled, no doubt hearing the coins piling in his hat, and took up his final knife, this time aiming for the sailor’s intimate areas.

Leather lined the inside of the purse, the boy realised. It was taking far longer than necessary to cut through. Aborting the heist was an option, but the amount she carried would be enough to feed him for the next few months or so. He bit his lip and continued cutting.

‘Miss! Miss! Miss!’ the crowd cried in jest much to the sailor’s terror. The Chevalier raised his hand to silence the crowd. They did so. The seaman’s twitching body fell still, perhaps realising that shaking and twitching would maximise the chances of him never becoming a father.

Finally breaching the cloth, the boy’s eyes glimmered with glee when two guineas slipped out into his palm. Enough for a month’s worth of a roof over his head.

A loud gasped escaped the crowd as the Chevalier drew his knife and threw it with impressive accuracy, shattering the chestnut into pieces. The boy stopped to witness the feat when he accidentally brushed against the woman’s skirt.

The guineas streamed loudly onto the ground. The Chevalier’s speech had ground to a halt as the spectators began to turn and stare right at the boy, not yet comprehending what had happened. The boy realised that he was out of time and started to back away into the crowd.

The woman’s shrill voice rang out, ‘Thief!’

Now chaos reigned. The boy tried to push his way through the crowd but people had started to check their now empty purses. Cries of outrage abound, they closed in on the terrified lad and seized him. Women screamed at him, enraged men roughed him up, emptying his pockets and landing blows on him with each coin that they recovered. The crowd had turned into an angry mob by this point. ‘Kill the bloody thief!’ someone cried.

‘Mercy! Please! Mercy!’ the boy stammered out, his right eye badly bruised.

‘Oi! Oi! Stop!’ The Chevalier pushed and jostled his way through the crowd. He shoved those still kicking the boy away and helped him struggle back onto his feet. ‘Halt! This young dumb lad’s my sister’s boy!’

‘He’s a cutpurse!’ The rich woman shouted angrily.

 Tears of terror were pouring down the young boy’s face as the Chevalier gave him a tight slap to the back of his head. He had taken quite a beating as evidenced by the bruises, earning him a bit of sympathy by those more compassionate among the crowd. ‘Yes, he’s a cutpurse, but a very bad one, is he not? Now, he’s just a young boy. He can still be moulded into a good law-abiding citizen, can he not? Now, I’ll make him promise not to do it again and I’ll take him back to his mother? Alright? _Bien_!’

Frightened, the boy took a while to find his words but eventually, quietly, he sobbed out an apology. Not that anyone was listening since the crowd was now engaging in a scuffle for the coins that laid scattered across the ground. The boy tried to get away but the Chevalier kept his hold on him and dragged him behind the stage.

‘I was wondering how long it would take before they discovered what you were up to,’ admitted the Chevalier to the boy in a very thick but natural Lowlander accent. He tossed away his wig and coat before plopping himself down onto a stool. ‘You were doing quite well before you decided to go for the big fish. Got greedy, aye?’

The boy said nothing, just stared at the Scotsman with frightened eyes.

‘Oi. Come on now. No need to be afraid of me. I am not turning you over to those bastards in that big fancy fort. Never a fan of the King’s men after all, being a Scot and all,’ the man chuckled. He extended his hand to the boy. ‘Douglas Ramsay at your service.’

The boy shook the man’s hand but said nothing.

‘Not much for words, huh? You don’t look like you’re from around here. Are you?’

The boy shook his head. ‘ _Venezia_.’

'Oh. A Venetian? What you’re doing so far away from home?’

There was no answer again.

Douglas frowned but continued, ‘Where do you live? I will need to send you back to your parents.’

‘No.’

'No, don’t send you back to your parents? Sorry, lad, but what you did back there, they better be told.’

‘No parents,’ said the boy, quietly.

'Oh. Where do you sleep? At the church?’

‘Sometimes. Sometimes on the streets.’

‘God, even I didn’t have it that bad when I was a wee lad like you. And I fought in the Civil War!’ The Scotsman paused to cough chokingly. He was still shaking even when he downed the draught that lessened the chest pains. ‘So, what do I do with you now? I could let you go but the crowd might still pounce on you once you leave.’

‘Train me,’ the boy said suddenly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You throw knifes well. I want to learn how,’ he told Douglas, simply.

Douglas stared at him long and hard, before leaning back. ‘I see. You want to learn this skill. Well, to be honest with you, my boy, I have never gone any further east than Spain, I just picked up the skill from a barman in Glasgow. You want me to train you.’

‘Yes.’

The old Scot smiled. ‘Everyday, at daybreak, on my schooner, the Aberdeen at the docks. You can sleep below deck if you want to. But before that,’ he paused. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘Nico.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed. Like it, dislike it, indifferent to it? Post your thoughts and help make this story better! Cheers, mates! Happy Easter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did not show it openly, but Nico was impressed. Never before had a victim of Nico’s ever come looking to retrieve their stolen possessions, what more garbed in the most transparent of disguises that he could ever imagine was possible. Nico tried to come up with a situation where Jason’s thin disguise could somehow work. He failed. He also tried guessing what the soldier’s plans were. Meet the captain and then? Wave a finger at him and demand his sword back? Fight his way through? Escape and bring back a regiment with him? In any case, he did not stop Jason from clambering onto the cart once they had disembarked from the barge. His hand did keep close to the knife in his boot, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short half of a chapter. I need time to think but I'll do my best. Cheers!

In retrospective reflection, the only reason Nico di Angelo chose against plunging his knife into the tailing soldier and consequently, sparing Jason’s life was because he was genuinely curious. Curious to see whether Jason was being a brave but extremely foolhardy lad or just a plain stupid dolt. Even a goat would know better than to march up to a wolf’s den, but here Jason was, trying to pass himself off as a simple and unassuming wannabe sailor.

He did not show it openly, but Nico was impressed. Never before had a victim of Nico’s ever come looking to retrieve their stolen possessions, what more garbed in the most transparent of disguises that he could ever imagine was possible. Nico tried to come up with a situation where Jason’s thin disguise could somehow work. He failed. He also tried guessing what the soldier’s plans were. Meet the captain and then? Wave a finger at him and demand his sword back? Fight his way through? Escape and bring back a regiment with him? In any case, he did not stop Jason from clambering onto the cart once they had disembarked from the barge. His hand did keep close to the knife in his boot, however.

About a mile or two away from their destination, Jason finally broke the stony silence between them. ‘So,’ he suddenly said. ‘How long have you been sailing?’

Nico considered the possibility that the soldier was subtly trying to get information out of him. Either that or he was just getting bored and wanted to pass the time with conversation. The pirate glanced at his companion to ‘read’ him. Jason’s icy blue eyes showed nothing worth doubting. _I still have to be careful with what I reveal._ ‘Since I was eleven,’ he said, carefully.

‘Wow. You started young,’ Jason seemed surprised. ‘And if it’s not too much to ask, may I enquire how old you are this year?’

‘Twenty-two this November. And you?’

‘Twenty-four.’

After that brief conversation, the two lapsed into silence. Passing through a market, Nico rolled his eyes when he noticed Jason politely tipping his hat to a pair of giggling floozies. As pretty as they were, Nico was well acquainted with the knowledge that their beauty would certainly lose much charm once their smitten victims realised that their purses had been emptied for a single night of earthly activities that had nothing to do with farming. 

Then, the soldier started speaking again, quietly as though afraid someone might overhear. ‘Is it true what they say about the captain?’        

‘What do you mean by that? Who’s ‘they’? What do ‘they’ say about m- about him?’ Nico felt a small surge of anxiety but also a growing sense of curiosity. He was never one to listen to town gossip, but if this gossip was about him, he wanted to know all about it.

Perhaps Jason heard something in Nico’s tone, because he hastened to add, ‘I apologise if I’m coming off as odd. I’m just curious, that’s all. Just, just to confirm the rumours?’

‘What rumours?’ Feeling a little brave and very curious, Nico turned to look at his companion, eyeball to eyeball.

Jason smiled meekly. ‘Now that I think about it, it does sound utterly ridiculous.’

‘What does?’

‘Rumour has it that he has driven people insane out of fear of him?’

Nico blinked. _Mio dio._ He may have killed a dozen men at the very least, and terrified merchants into crapping their pants and surrendering their goods without a fight through disguise and some theatrical thievery, but scaring people’s sanity out of them seemed to be a little too much of an accomplishment even for him. ‘Shit, who the hell have you been talking to?’

‘Well, to be honest, beggars and out-of-work seamen.’

The Italian clapped sardonically. ‘And did they tell you that he is a demon in the shape of a man? Or the Devil himself, come to take the souls of the wicked? Seriously, you didn’t actually believe them, did you?’

‘To a certain extent, but point taken,’ frowned Jason, looking a little red in the face. ‘I trust we aren’t far from wherever we are headed?’

The cart rumbled to a halt. ‘True that,’ said Nico. The sand scattered as he landed nimbly on his feet. ‘We’re here.’

The establishment he and Jason stood before had the grim, unassuming and unfriendly façade of so many abandoned plantation warehouses. The only indicator of residence was a simple sign that hung outside just above the door, squeaking on its rusty hinges in the wind. The Golden Lion was a large wooden building with a stained red roof and the sign that bore the eponymous feline. Despite its outer appearances, its interior was definitely a surprise for those new to the establishment.

Nico hid his smile when he saw how taken aback Jason was when he stepped through the doorway. _Not what you expected, huh?_

‘Mind explaining why am I in a brothel?’ Jason asked as he found himself in a rather well decorated hall of great size. It was rather dark, and the air a little stale and for the lack of a better word, stank. Silk hangings covered the wall interspersed with lit candelabra. Biting back laughter, Nico watched as Jason stood a little stunned when he noticed the dozen silk-garbed beauties cooing at him to come away with them. Beneath some of the hangings, doors could be seen leading to private rooms.

 ‘Oh, oh my!’ gasped one of them.

 ‘He’s cute!’ noted the one beside her.

 ‘Can we keep him for tonight?’ said another.

 ‘Umm…’ Jason seemed to be stumbling over his words, blushing very obviously, much to Nico’s bemusement. He never found them, instead just doffing his hat to them and giving them a quick bow. ‘I was led here, by, umm, Nico?’

Chuckling under his breath, Nico stepped forward to burst the girls’ dreams. ‘Sorry, girls, he’s with me.’

 ‘Aww…’

 ‘Still, he looks exhausted!’ cried the most insistent of the women. She descended the stairs to pull at Jason’s hand and wrapped her other hand around his waist. ‘Come, relax with me!’

Immediately, Nico tore him away from her embrace and hurried him away into a backroom. ‘He’s. With. Me,’ he growled. It was only later that he realised that he must have acted a little odd then, at least to Jason’s perspective. And even then, he wasn’t entirely sure why he acted the way he did. He did not think much of it even as he forced Jason to descend the ladder through the trapdoor that laid open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is you, isn’t it? Smelly Man’s voice began to rise and his mates closed in on Jason. Far too much attention was being diverted toward him and Jason. “The sumph James was stealing from. The sold-“
> 
> That’s it. “Are you hungry?”
> 
> “What? No. You are –“
> 
> “A shame. Forgive me, I’m still going to have to feed you your teeth,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I got my writing mojo again! Forgive the long delay. I was rather ill the past weeks with fever and a bad throat. I really wish I could stick to my schedule but life makes suckers out of us all. Have a happy reading anyway.

When he was a wee lad, Jason was mostly taken care of by an old Polish nanny, whom everyone just called Marian. She could be rather strict at times, applying the cane liberally whenever he tracked mud on the Persian rug or called Thalia mean names. Jason’s father never really trusted her and her “Catholic ways”, but her services came cheap, so she was allowed to stay until Jason had matured. Jason still remembered her rather fondly however, thanks to the tall tales she would tell him on some cold and quiet nights.

Her father, she claimed, was a travelling merchant who passed down to her his accounts of strange, mysterious places that few men have set their eyes on. It was quite a pleasant treat to stay up late at night, wrapped up in a warm blanket, sometimes joined by Thalia, to listen to Marian as she spoke of an absurdly long wall in the Far East, or of a strange land south of the globe where creatures of oddity lived, or of a city in the middle of the African desert with towers of mud.

The one story that did actually give him the creeps, was that of the catacombs that criss-crossed beneath Paris. Of all her stories, this was one that he found out to be true rather early on, much to his younger self’s horror. The thought of being trapped in dark tunnels filled with human remains left him a little shaken, even more so when he had a nightmare with him in that precarious position.

Jason wondered if the tunnel that he was trudging through at the moment bore any resemblance to the Parisian catacombs. There were no walls of bone here, but there were tunnels branching off to nowhere in particular. The walls were earthy with the roots of trees above ground occasionally making their way through them. They were close enough for him to touch either side with each hand, not that he tried doing so constantly. The crumbling soil convinced him not to.

“What is this place?” the soldier muttered aloud.

“Smuggler’s tunnels,” came the reply. Nico was leading the way, holding the only source of light, a lantern, aloft in his hand. “They used to pinch from the warehouse’s sugar stocks, selling it elsewhere for half the price. Small wonder that the plantation owner went out of business soon enough.”

A sound startled Jason. He could barely stifle a cry when he noticed a hideous insect resting on his shoulder, staring at him with its beady, soulless eyes. “Where are we going?”

Nico gingerly leapt across a dark void. He grinned when he noticed Jason’s pale face and the unwanted hanger-on. He swept the bug off much to Jason’s relief. “You’ll see. We are nearly there.”

The distant melody of a violin and of merry drinkers soon flooded down the tunnel. The sound of a tavern. A dim light was ahead; the end of the tunnel was covered by a wooden door. Jason silently thanked the Creator, concluding that he was not fond of enclosed spaces in the least.

“We’re here,” announced Nico, swinging the door open.

“Nico! _Dieu merci!_ ” cried a woman’s voice. Jason emerged out of the tunnel into a brightly-lit drinking hall. The blast of warm air, cheery music and the stench of rum was quite a welcome change from the earthy, suffocating air of the tunnels. Jason laid down the crates on the bar, where Nico was getting pecked on the cheek by a smiling black lady in a simple barmaid’s garb. _His lover?_ “It was getting late and I was afraid that you had gotten lost in the –“

The woman paused and failed to finish her sentence, having suddenly noticed Jason standing beside Nico. The sweet smile on her face was swept away by a frown of uncertainty. Her gaze was quite curious and cold but and her eyes frightened, as if she could see pass the disguise to see what he really was. Perhaps that was the case, Jason thought, but he had never seen her before in his life, so it seemed highly unlikely.

“Nico, who’s this?” she asked, smiling but caution evident in her voice.

“Jason Grace, a –“

“ – friend,” said Jason, putting on a warm smile as he extended his hand to her. She hesitated momentarily, staring down at the soldier’s hand quizzingly, but whatever concerns she had, she finally laid aside to shake it.

“Hazel Levesque. A great pleasure to meet you.”

“Jason here is a man of the sea, and he…umm…wishes to offer his services to the…captain,” explained Nico.

“Oh? Is that so?” she said, pushing aside a snoring bloke to give his seat to Jason. He noticed her glancing at him, looking him from top to bottom. Jason hoped that he could at least pass off as a sailor, despite lacking the brawny arms and the build for that matter.

“Indeed. I seek an audience with the man whose name I hear whispered among the men of the docks,” smiled Jason, knowing that it would not be long before he found the man he sought. His hand laid close to his sword.

Hazel exchanged a look with Nico, who mouthed something to her. She wiped her hands on her apron before pouring out a tankard of ale for him. “He doesn’t like to be found.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Then you’re as brave as you are foolish,” she smirked. She began moving off to the far end of the bar, Nico following her. “Make yourself at home. The captain might be here soon.”

“Might?” said Jason, sharply.

“Yes, might. Go. Sit down. Have a drink. Play cards or something. Nico, a word please?”

Nico shrugged his shoulders and pushed his unfinished drink across the counter toward Jason. “Make yourself at home.”

“Home was never like this,” muttered Jason to himself. The tavern was not a large establishment, nor a very clean one. It looked seedy and it certainly smelt like it. Drunk, guffawing men lounged at the tables or on the floor, several eyeing Jason suspiciously. Raucous laughter and the smell of piss assaulted his senses. He kept his cool even as he moved through the den of thieves, but remained watchful at all times. A table in the corner of the room was unoccupied, inviting him to sit down by himself.

Through the curtains of tobacco smoke, Nico seemed to be in a deep discussion with Hazel, sometimes pausing to wave at him. Over what, Jason couldn’t tell from that distance and with that much noise. At one point, she seemed to be pointing right where he was sitting, as though she was talking about him. And she didn’t look happy about him. _Not that a barmaid’s opinion matters much._

The flames from the hearth flickered on the walls and the faces of a men watching the stranger within their midst. Jason tried to appear relaxed, to give no impression that he was having second thoughts about his plan, if it could be called a plan at all. He had walked into the lion’s den with nothing but a sword and pistol by his side. So what if he found the captain? It would be highly unlikely that the pirate would just lay down his arms and drag himself to prison. Jason took a sip of ale. Perhaps it would be safer and smarter to just slip out while no one noticed. It was a more feasible plan, he realised, to come back with a regiment and capture the man, perhaps razing this filthy place while at it.

“Hey, you!” A filthy, drunk deckhand gave Jason the evil eye as he took a seat at the opposite end of the table, flanked by two of his mates. Jason felt the remains of his breakfast creep up his throat when he caught a whiff of the man’s foul stench, but he stayed his tongue.

“Me?”

The man made a smacking sound with his grimy mouth. “No, the other bloody Scot git. Yes, you! You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“Indeed I’m not,” said Jason calmly, drinking from his empty tankard. “And I’m not a Scot. I’m English.”

Jason noticed the man curl his lip. “Oh, and that makes you better than all of us here, aye?”

 _Uh-oh._ “I have said and indicated absolutely nothing of the sort. If you wish to have my table, I’m more than delighted to vacate it for you.”

“Oi, what are you? A pansy?” He spat. The drool dripped off his lips as he leaned forward and choked Jason with his stench. “I wasn’t saying anything, but you’re already running off with the tail between your legs.”

“Leave him alone, Tom,” called Nico, having noticed the rising tension.

He leaned forward, pushing himself further into Jason’s face. “Oi, haven’t I seen you before? In Nassau?”

Jason froze. His eyes darted to Nico, signalling for help, but the lad had turned back toward Hazel. “On second thoughts, I was already leaving,” he said, rising from his seat. “Have a goodnight, good sir.”

“It is you, isn’t it? Smelly Man’s voice began to rise and his mates closed in on Jason. Far too much attention was being diverted toward him and Jason. “The sumph James was stealing from. The sold-“

 _That’s it._ “Are you hungry?”

“What? No. You are –“

“A shame. Forgive me, I’m still going to have to feed you your teeth,” said Jason quietly, bristling. Tightening his grip around his tankard, he slammed it hard into Smelly Man’s jaw. The man staggered and reeled. For good measure, Jason swept the man’s feet from under him. He crashed onto the floor, breaking the stool along the way.

“You bastard,” Jason heard from behind him. Friend One roared as he charged forward and slammed his fist into Jason’s stomach. He continued his charge as he slammed Jason into the wall. The bolt of pain shot through his body, but he still had the strength to slam his forehead into the man’s nose. The man’s next words were garbled as he tried to breathe through his broken nose. A knee in the crotch sent him writhing onto the ground.

Friend Two seemed more hesitant to attack, probably wanting to keep most of his teeth in. He also was not much of a believer in fair play, considering he pulled out a knife from his belt and swung at Jason’s throat. The soldier lifted his arms to protect himself, grunting when he felt the blade tear through the skin and draw blood. He tried to land a blow on his attacker, but Friend Two was a lot faster than his pals and nicked Jason again.

“Hey, _stronzo_! Have a seat!” Friend Two’s mouth hanged open when a sudden punch from Nico sent him staggering backward. Just as he regained his balance, he lost it again when the chair that Nico hurled hit him right in the face.

“Are you hurt?” asked Nico, alarmed when he noticed Jason’s bloodstained sleeves.

Despite the pain, he still smiled. “Never better. This is actually quite fun.”

Nico’s eyes widened. “Look out!”

From behind Jason, he heard ‘Ha!’ and moved away in time to avoid his skull being cleaved into two by an axe. Smelly Man had somehow gotten to his feet and had a nasty-looking boarding axe in hand. Pretty pissed at the loss of his teeth and friends, he swung the axe clumsily, breaking off a good chunk of table with him. “Stop moving! Fight me, maggot!”

Knowing that making the wrong move would mean getting sent home to England in a wooden box, Jason chose to end the fight quickly. When Smells swung his axe again, Jason ducked and directed his heel onto the back of the man’s knee. A sickening crack was heard. Smelly Man howled with pain but his agony did not last long when a swift kick to the back sent him sprawling onto the ground again and a sudden stomp from Nico broke a rib or two.

“ _Bien_! Those louts never paid anyway!” cheered Hazel from somewhere in the back.

Jason grinned widely at Nico. “That was disappointingly short. But with you, I could go for a second round.” He was lightly patting him on the shoulder when something slipped from Nico’s pockets and rattled onto the ground. A wooden face. A mask. _The mask._

“You.”

A flicker of irritation but also, regret, appeared in the pirate’s eye when he realised that the game was up. The way he looked at Jason made the soldier wonder if he really was as disappointed as he looked, or whether it was just criminal theatrics. “I must say, I was hoping that things would work out better between the both of us.”

“There can be no peace as long as you hold what is rightfully mine,” growled Jason, drawing his sword.

“That’s it?” laughed Nico. “You came here, into my territory, risking your life for a sword?”

“It’s not just _a_ sword; but yes.” Jason stepped forward. “In the name of her majesty, you are under arrest.”

“A shame but not today,” he replied smugly.

Still, the last thing Jason saw before he had lights knocked out by Hazel was the uncertain, sad frown on the pirate’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcomed. Have something to add or suggest? Comment! Like the work? Kudos!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico was in trouble. It was all fine and dandy when he was stabbing unsuspecting soldiers in the back, but now, he was surrounded by a posse of six Frenchmen, cautious not to turn their backs to him. He held his ground, keeping them at bay with knife in hand, but he ultimately made his mistake by letting his opponents flank him. A lucky swing from a musket butt set him off-balance in the sand and a kick to his stomach made him lose his footing. He fell.
> 
> During his training sessions with his fencing instructor, Jason had been told again and again to remember but two things. One was to always prioritise defence over offense. The second was to never fall in a fight. “Once you fall, it’s over,” he would say. Sure enough, Nico’s life appeared to be at an end with the French moving on him, swords drawn and bayonets at ready. He seemed to know it too, his eyes widening in terror as he realised he had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...a chapter I'm personally proud of. I'm also thankful that I could deliver a new chapter this week. Plenty of coursework to do this week. Cheerio, fellows!

“Does he…does he live? Cousin Thalia will never forgive me if it turns out that her brother perished under my watch.”

“Don’t be daft. He’s been blinking for quite some time now. He’s just dazed.”

His eyes having finally adjusted to the light, Jason’s eyes finally flickered open, revealing a view of cold, wet cloth descending onto his forehead, held in Lady Annabeth’s hand. Percy stood next to his wife, his concerned face being replaced with a look of relief that his cousin was still very much alive.

Jason sat up rapidly and groaned. A mirror revealed to him the ugly bruise on his forehead, throbbing painfully but properly dressed nonetheless. The pain from the cuts in his arm was sharp, but he could afford to ignore it. As his eyes focused, they took in the rays of sunlight pouring into the small bedroom. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat a little too dry for any words to form.

“How did I get here?” he asked after downing several cups of water.

“Some fishermen found you dumped among their nets at the dock,” explained Percy. “They were carting you off to the inn when our neighbour, the Barretts, happened to spot you and informed Annabeth.”

Jason nodded. His memory was a little fuzzy with the events of the previous night arranged in no particular order. _Somewhere in a tavern. Tunnels. That woman named Hazel. Nico. The pirate captain’s mask. Nico being behind the mask._

“How long would it take for you to get to the far end of Andros island?”

“Andros? Umm, why – “ Percy replied, frowning at the strange inquiry.

“How long?”

“With the winds being favourable, an hour at most. Maybe less.”

 “Do you have a ship capable of transporting a platoon at least?”

“My frigate hasn’t arrived unfortunately, but there’s a brig idle in port right now, her captain down with the scurvy.”

“Then, refit her within the hour and prepare to set sail. I must get my men ready,” said Jason, urgently donning his full uniform and equipping his weapons.

His head swam but he still managed to stay upright. In any case, his anger was driving him to action. He had been shamefully humiliated the previous night, right before the man who was the cause of much of his misery. Mistakes were made, but now, payback was due. “Thank you for your hospitality once again, Lady Chase,” murmured Jason as he made his way to the door.

“Jason,” said Annabeth, gripping his arm and stalling him. “A word if you please.”

The soldier wanted to shake her off and go on with his plans, but considering she had helped nurse him back to consciousness, if there was anyone worth his time, it was Lady Chase. “What is it, my lady?”

“Be wary that your thirst for vengeance does not cloud your mind,” she said.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I believe you mistake my motivations. It’s not vengeance that I seek, it’s justice. I seek justice against a criminal seaman who also happened to abscond with one of my family’s heirlooms.”

“Do not confuse vengeance for justice, easy as it may be to do so. Aye, the man deserves punishment for his crimes. But I mean you no ill when I say that the way you are going around doing this was and is utterly foolish. The fact that you still live despite being defenceless before your quarry is a testament to either God’s grace or the man’s folly.”

“You are asking me to be thankful that I live then?”

“Indeed!” she said with a sudden surge of passion. “I tell you with utmost certainty that if it had been any other pirate you had confronted, you would be now bobbing in the sea lacking a head. Go on with your quest, but be wise about it. Is your sword really worth your life?”

She did not receive an answer. He could not think of one. Mumbling his thanks again and bidding her a hasty goodbye, Jason hurried down the stairs and out onto the street. The people of Nassau made way for the fuming colonel as he made his way to the fort. Even the drunken pirates who would normally accost and be a nuisance to the Queen’s soldiers wisely chose to leave him alone on this sunny morning.

The fort’s hapless captain was surprised to find his commanding officer on his doorstep, unaware of Jason’s earlier arrival, and even more so when Jason ordered an immediate inspection of the garrison. He seemingly tried to drag his feet about it but Jason’s sharp glare sent him scurrying off to the barracks. Much to Jason’s annoyance, the men stationed here were less professional soldiers than they were part-time militiamen. About half the garrison were in civilian clothing and those that were in uniform had very apparently failed to keep to the regulations, lacking the mandatory buttons and sashes.

If the situation was not so urgent, he would have already called for a whipping of those responsible for the garrison’s deplorable state, starting with the captain. In any case, he picked out a small platoon consisting of men who at the very least, could aim their muskets in the general direction of the enemy and pull the trigger before reloading. With that done, he marched out at the head of his men, flags flying and a drum beating solemnly.

“Well, it’s been quite a while since I last departed on an expedition.” laughed Percy once Jason and his men had boarded the brig. “Not that I dislike it though. I have been missing the roar of cannon and the thrill of action to be honest. Perhaps I could try to take a prize or two on the way back.”

Jason smiled softly. “Maybe another time, Percy. I can’t guarantee you a battle. You’re just heading to Andros island to help me arrest the pirate they call _La Muerte Invisible_ and destroy his hideout and if found, his ship. It’s unlikely that he’ll submit to me without a fight though, so perhaps you still might have a chance of letting out a broadside.”

Percy’s eyebrows perked up, either excited at the prospect of combat or curious at the mention of the pirate captain, perhaps both. “You met the man then?”

“His hideout is a tavern on the far-end of the island. I would know it by sight. And he’s less a man than he is a boy,” scoffed Jason, remembering Nico’s face very well. How could he not? Never before had he met such a double-faced lad, so amicable when unmasked but actually a murderous criminal masked. “He didn’t really look the part, to be honest, but I suppose that’s just part of the ruse to make his foes underestimate him.”

“Like you did then?”

Jason gave his cousin a long, hard glare.

“Umm, alright then. Weigh anchor! Unfurl all sails! Set course for Andros!” Percy took up position at the wheel while Jason retreated into the captain’s cabin, shielding himself from the burning sun. His head was swimming in circles again when he finally laid down to get a brief moment of respite. Sleep, he found, was obliged to last for just a few precious minutes.

* * *

 

From the gun deck outside, Jason could distantly hear the sounds of manic activity – sailors moving at a hurried pace – and Percy barking orders, followed by the boom of the chase cannon. “All hands to stations! Man the cannon! Prepare for battle!”

Jason hurried out onto the deck and scanned the surrounding landscape. The deck was bustling with crewmen hurrying to their battle stations. In the distance, two sloops flying French colours were unfurling their sails and weighing anchor, having abetted a shore raid. No doubt the sight of a British brig-of-war was enough to spook them enough to leave. In their haste, they seemed to be callously abandoning their shore party to its fate. The tavern was up in flames, with a fierce battle taking place around it between the French and a band of men, probably pirates and their ilk.

“Those cowards are leaving their shore party behind!” laughed Percy, observing the chaos through his spyglass. He tossed it to his cousin to let him have a look himself. “I suppose it’s not wrong to feel a little sorry for the poor sops, aye? But it’s the sorry arses of their shipmates that I’ll be having this day.”

In the midst of the chaos, Jason immediately noticed a lithe young man slipping up from behind an unsuspecting French musketeer and casually slitting his throat. Nico then buried a knife in the back of another before tackling a third to the ground. _Impressive._

He tossed the spyglass back to Percy. “My men and I will have to go ashore here,” said Jason as he signalled to his men to begin untying and lowering the rowboats. “Keep the ships away from us. Can’t have them turning their guns on us.”

“Certainly. I’ll take them on. Stay safe, Jason.”

As the boats began to make their way through the choppy sea towards the beach, Jason could not help but notice that Nico’s band of men were taking quite a severe beating by the French. For one, they were quite outnumbered. And two, a band of pirates, while wild and ferocious in close combat, could not really match up to the discipline and lethality of a volley.  

The tables were turned on them though, with the departure of their ships and the sudden, unexpected arrival of British troops. Jason leapt out of the rowboat, sword and pistol drawn. “Engage their firing line,” he ordered the captain. “Should they break, fix bayonets and drive them off.” While his men formed ranks, he charged into the chaotic melee, ironically intending to save the man he wanted to see hanged.

Nico was in trouble. It was all fine and dandy when he was stabbing unsuspecting soldiers in the back, but now, he was surrounded by a posse of six Frenchmen, cautious not to turn their backs to him. He held his ground, keeping them at bay with knife in hand, but he ultimately made his mistake by letting his opponents flank him. A lucky swing from a musket butt set him off-balance in the sand and a kick to his stomach made him lose his footing. He fell.

During his training sessions with his fencing instructor, Jason had been told again and again to remember but two things. One was to always prioritise defence over offense. The second was to never fall in a fight. “Once you fall, it’s over,” he would say. Sure enough, Nico’s life appeared to be at an end with the French moving on him, swords drawn and bayonets at ready. He seemed to know it too, his eyes widening in terror as he realised he had lost.

_Not on my watch._

The smoke and confusion of the fight concealed Jason’s movement until the moment he cut through the smoke, sabre at the ready. The soldiers who saw him gaped and proceeded to fail to warn their comrades who had their backs toward him. A failure that would cost them dearly.

A quick slash to their spines sent two of them writhing onto the sand with their dying gasps, their blood sipping through the grains. Two men dead within seconds and a third about to join them as Jason ran the nearest soldier through with his sabre.

The next man brought his musket to bear, aiming right at Jason, but Nico had regained his bearings and tackled the bloke, sinking his blade into the poor sap’s eye socket. The fifth of the soldiers was the first to actually be able to discharge his gun. Jason bristled when he heard the ball the air by his ear and reacted swiftly, slamming the hilt into the man’s teeth and silencing him through the throat. The last man decided to stay alive a little longer by dropping his weapons and falling to his knees, pleading in mangled English for his life.

Jason chose to spare the man, but his attention was diverted when he realised that Nico was taking off into the jungle. Whatever for, Jason didn’t know. What he did know was that he started pursuing the pirate without delay, determined not to let him slip through his fingers again. He was also unaware that this was going to be a start of a long, strange enterprise with one he thought as an enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always warmly welcomed! Liked the story? Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll have to catch me first, soldatino,” said Nico, backing toward the edge of the incline. “But I’m afraid that we won’t be seeing each other again any time soon, if ever. Farewell.”
> 
> He jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter is completed. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, to head back to college assignments...

While a splendid sight for old men and young girls to behold, Jason’s uniform was starting to come off as nothing but an annoying detriment in the face of his pursuit of Nico. His coat was dripping with sweat, growing heavier by the minute. The jungle, as it turned out, was far more inhospitable to European soldiers in full gear, with thick vines blockading the path and heavy foliage making it hard to keep the pirate within sight.

Worst of all was the mud. The stinky, sticky mud that sucked at his high boots, making every step less of a run and more of a wade. Jason was screaming curses in his head as Nico began to gain some distance between them. The thought of letting his quarry escape again was intolerable. It was unlikely that they would ever chance upon each other ever again if he lost sight of Nico. Every muscle groaned and cried in protest at the abuse they were receiving. Jason tried to hold onto the hope that Nico was as badly struggling as he was.

“ _Figlio di puttana!_ What do you want?!” Nico cursed after having nimbly leapt across a shallow stream. To Jason’s fury, the pirate actually had the guts to mock him by stopping to take a breather. Jason must have been too far to be of particular concern to Nico for the time being.

Jason pressed on, gritting his teeth with the effort. “Give me back what you have stolen, you scoundrel!” he roared. Just then, he felt a drop on his water fall onto his cheek, followed by another. The skies above were starting to rumble with the boom of thunder. Descending onto the earth were the torrents of rain familiar to those who had lived long enough in the West Indies. The sun’s light was blocked out by the clouds, leaving the two men stuck inside a landscape of dark green and black.

“What is it to you that you are so willing to come after me?” laughed Nico. He had waited for Jason to come within grabbing distance before taking off again. In a fit of rage, Jason drew his pistol and trained it on the fleeing pirate’s turned back. Nico happened to glance back and his eyes widened in fear when he realised that the nearest tree trunk was just out of his reach. Jason’s finger tightened around the trigger. The hammer on the pistol snapped forward.

A sour hiss and a squirt of mud and water was all that came out of the barrel. _Lesson one: When trying to shoot someone, make sure your powder is dry and your gun is not filled with mud._ The soldier stared at his pistol for a moment. From the distance, Nico did not bother concealing his mockery. “Nothing much between your ears, is there?” he jeered as he danced over roots in his path.

Despite the growing urge to just call it a day and give up his sword as lost forever, Jason just snarled, holstered his firearm and continued his pursuit. He crashed through the jungle, too concentrated on his prey to pay attention to the branches that were whipping his face and tearing at the skin. Nico glanced back. Despite the agony and fatigue, Jason chose to put up a sardonic grin that warned him that there was no stopping him until either one of them was in chains or dead. There was also a growing feeling of ecstasy. It was probably the fact that the terrain had evened out with far less obstacles in his way than previously. And also, he was closing the gap.

“ _Merda!_ Keep back or I’ll gut you!” Jason heard from ahead. Again, Nico risked another look behind and saw that there was no way he was going to shake off the stubborn fool behind him. The jungle was finally parting to reveal a clearing ahead. It was at the edge of an incline, quite some distance above the churning water below. By the time Jason had caught up with him, Nico had already drawn his sword and was seemingly contemplating if leaping down the slope was a potential lifesaver or just suicide. In any case, he did look exhausted. Not that Jason appeared any better though with his drenched coat and breeches having taken a long soak in the mud.

“Surrender,” growled Jason. “And I’ll spare you. Fight, and you die.”

“You don’t understand!” Nico hissed as he stood at the very edge. “He took her and I have to find her!”

“Who?”

“Hazel! The man who attacked the tavern. They took her! There was a third ship that left just before you and your redcoat bastards turned up. I need to go after him!” spat Nico. Past his shoulder, Jason thought he saw something move just beyond the cliff, but he was not given enough time to consider what it was when Nico suddenly lunged at him.

The two men’s blades were brought to bear and their eyes met. Jason had suspected that what Nico had said was nothing more than a sob story that was meant to get some sympathy out of him, but Nico’s eyes did not seem to correlate with his theory, looking frightened and worried rather than deceptive. “Why should I care? She’s no friend of mine and is clearly in cahoots with you.”

A look of outrage appeared on Nico’s face. The aggression in his attacks seemed to double, slamming his sword against Jason’s parries again and again. He still lacked finesse in swordplay though, considering how many times he left himself open to attack. Jason considered running the lad through and ending it quickly, but a lingering curiosity to hear what he had to say about him coaxed him to spare him a few more seconds. “That’s all you want then, is it? Revenge? Because I took your stupid sword, right? You don’t care a woman’s life is in danger. All you want is my life. I expected you were a _pezzo di merda_. But this?! I should have known better.”

“It’s justice I seek,” Jason declared loudly but his voice lowering when he realised how hollow his words sounded to him now. His reckless actions were reeking of a man seeking vengeance rather than justice. Annabeth’s warning rang true.

“Justice?” spat Nico. He was starting to swing wildly with his sword. A poor choice as Nico discovered when he received a few good cuts on his arm. “The only people your courts are ever fair to are the rich and powerful who grow fat on the labours of the poor or worse, slaves! Do you have no respect for us people who are just trying to make their way in life?”

“You make your way in life through robbery and thievery!” grunted Jason, his sword arm working as he exchanged blows. “And I’m supposed to respect that?”

“ _Idiota._ Your Queen and her Lords do the same damn thing as I do, just without the use of violence. I don’t see you trying to bring them to justice!”

“Enough!” Jason barked. He had come here to arrest a pirate, not receive a lecture on the inequalities of society from him. Seeing an opening, he plunged his sword into Nico’s shoulder, earning himself a howl of pain. Nico dropped his sword and staggered, clutching at his wound. It was neither deep nor fatal, but it would take a while before he could consider swinging a sword at anyone again. “You’ve lost.”

Nico smiled scoffingly. “ _Bene_ for you. So, now what? I die and Hazel is sold into slavery again? You think you're really something, don't you, Grace? Coming here, acting like you are a hero of some fairy tale. Well, guess what? You are no hero to me. Just another fucking bastard in my life.”

“I do not care about seeking your approval,” snarled Jason, keeping the pirate’s back to the very edge. “Just give me my sword and I’ll make it quick.”

For a moment, the two glared at each other in silence. For all the threats that he had made to Nico’s life, Jason was starting to reconsider if he actually wanted him dead. Punished definitely, but dead? It was one thing to cause the deaths of men actively trying to kill him, but it was another to kill such a young lad who was barely a man when he was unarmed and wounded. _Maybe mercy was still an option._ His gaze then returned toward Nico. The alarm bells in his head went off when he noticed the sly, scheming look that he had seen many times before.

“You’ll have to catch me first, _soldatino_ ,” said Nico, backing toward the edge of the incline. “But I’m afraid that we won’t be seeing each other again any time soon, if ever. Farewell.”

He jumped.

For the first time in months, Jason gasped in horror and rushed to the edge. It was never his intention to drive anyone to suicide. The lad was a criminal but this was not the fate he deserved. He peered over the edge to see if he could at least spot the lad’s broken body.

The pirate did not seem utterly hurt, other than the bumpy descent down the slope. He did seem to stumble for a moment when leaping from the slope onto his ship’s deck, probably hindered by the cut in his shoulder. He still managed to make it onboard though, his crewmen had been patiently waiting on to receive their captain. Raising his head to where Jason was watching, Nico doffed his hat politely before heading over to the wheel.

 _Stupid, foolish Jason Grace._ Jason cursed himself for somehow not having noticed the ship’s masts behind Nico. Now, there was simply no way to pursue Nico unless following suit down the slope was an option. An insane, dangerous option, with the ship already starting to pull away. An option that Jason did not have any time to decide to take when the ground beneath him, softened into mud after being lashed by rain, oozed away and crumbled.

He fell, slamming into stones and rocks on the way down, whipped and cut by the roots and branches that protruded out from the earth. Tried as he might, he was unable to maintain a grip on anything to stop his fall. From a distance, he heard the sound of raucous laughter from the pirate crew as they watched the soldier descend the slope haplessly and clumsily. A searing pain in his side cut the breath out of him. Only with a good amount of fortune and wits, did he manage to have presence of mind to turn his fall into something with the semblance of a slide. And right before Nico’s ship sailed out of reach, Jason managed to make the leap and rolled onto the deck.

“ _Che cazzo?_ ” Jason heard Nico mutter aloud. He stood, or rather struggled to, with a rather unsightly branch sticking from his flank. The wound was starting to turn his red coat into a shade of purple. He tried to yank it out, but before he could do so, he found himself sprawling on the deck again. Nico had drawn a double-barreled pistol and shoved it into Jason’s stomach, sending him staggering back.

“You just won’t leave me alone, will you?” snarled Nico through clenched teeth.

“To be honest,” admitted Jason. “I’m starting to lose interest in chasing you down now. Just give me back my sword and I’ll let you go. We'll call it even.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to make any deals with me, Grace.” Nico pointed out as his men started to close in on the unwanted passenger. Jason tried to reach for his sword but the pain in his side seemed to intensify. “Not so fun when it’s you who are at the end of the barrel, is it?”

Jason grew wary. He was tired. “Just make it quick.”

Nico smiled. And pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the story? Leave your comments and kudos behind to show it! Always warmly welcomed at all times.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico had thought about that, finding it difficult to believe what he was about to say. Somehow, he had managed to concoct a plan that would have been unthinkable to him the day before. Reality had managed to sink in once his anger was tempered though. Going after the men who had taken his sister would require more than just cold steel and heavy cannonades. What choice did he have? Nico wondered. Possibly, his idea was a foolish one with no chances of succeeding, but it would not hurt him to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Chapter 11 is up! Just a headsup that I might not be able to update this story next week due to an upcoming important exam. I'll see if I can though.

Night was already falling when Nico started to scuttle up the ratlines. He ignored the lookouts’ grumbles as he climbed into the already-cramped crow’s nest and pushed them aside. He put his spyglass to his eye and stared out to the west where the sun was already sinking; its dying light adequate enough for Nico to spotted what he had wanted to see. French colours fluttering from the masts of the sloop sailing swiftly in the direction of Havana.

‘ _Cazzo_ ,’ Nico cursed. The fact that there was simply no way his ship could not go any faster was making him think up ludicrous ideas to increase its speed. He knew the truth though. There was nothing left onboard that was dispensable enough to dump into the sea. The Spectre was no slowpoke to say the least, but the head start that the French had meant it was going to take a good week or maybe two to be able to catch up with them. That too was only if the winds were favourable, but the likelihood of that was not very promising considering how erratic the weather could get.

Nico watched, making himself stay calm, though his heart was bursting. The feeling of loss was one that he never relished, but was unfortunately all too familiar with. He snapped the glass shut and sighed.

His heart had nearly stopped when he returned home from dumping Jason in Nassau to find the tavern up in flames and Hazel nowhere to be found. Only the dying words of a French sailor brutalised by him revealed that she had been kidnapped and long dragged up onto another ship that had since departed.

He stared at the churning sea breaking on the bow of his ship. Every last detail, every last wave, even the sea foam being tossed about, all were thrown into terrifying focus. He felt quite lost, with no one to turn to. By this point, Hazel had become more than just his confidante and advisor. His head spun a little at an uncomfortable epiphany. The realisation that with each passing day, the possibility that he would never see her again was growing. A realisation that he chose to ignore for the moment as he clambered over the crow’s nest and began to make his way down the ratlines.

‘Keep your eyes on her, lads!’ he shouted up to the lookouts. ‘Don’t lose sight of her any time soon!’

‘Aye, captain!’

The Cuban coast was to the Spectre’s portside, with nothing but open sea behind her. The French vessel was just close enough to be seen with the naked eye, but still at an incredible distance. Nico had already manned the wheel for the past few hours, so he decided that he had done enough for today. His worrisome thoughts had kept his attention of his stomach for a good amount of time. At present though, an unpleasant growl resounded from his within his belly. He wanted dinner.

‘The usual, sir?’ asked the cook as the captain descended into the ship’s galley. Most of the men had retired to their hammocks, exhausted after a long day.

‘Double the portions. And send the Chardonnay up into my cabin,” he ordered, discreetly pocketing an apple from a barrel of the fruit. Fresh fruit was a luxury to sailors on most ships. It was at least far more appetising than the dinner of teeth-breaking stockfish and mushy peas. There was a good reason why captains had to make the occasional stop to let their men go ashore to hunt for more desirable chow.

Not bothered to go back up to his cabin to eat in private, Nico just instead ate quietly on his feet. About halfway through his meal, a strange thought somehow managed to wriggle its way into his mind. ‘Wouldn’t hurt to try,’ said he. With plate in hand, he pushed aside hammocks of snoring crewmen to make his way down into the brig where a rather unhappy prisoner awaited.

‘Good evening, Mr. Grace. I hope you are enjoying your stay onboard my ship.’

Very, very slowly, Jason opened his eyes. He said nothing. Jason may be safely behind bars, but Nico knew better than to approach without caution. He had taken note of the immediate scowl that tarnished the soldier’s face as he laid his eyes on him. Perhaps he did not like his accommodation, which was not very surprising, since he was more likely to be accustomed to more comfortable quarters. A wooden bowl laid on the thin hay mattress. The dry flour biscuit and blob of oatmeal inside were untouched.

‘You hungry?’ asked Nico.

There was no response other than a cold stare.

Just out of Jason’s reach was a pile of the man’s possessions, his sword and pistol as well as his bloodstained garments. Bandages had been wrapped around his chest, clean enough to ensure that his wound would not turn septic and bring a painful death upon him. Nico sat opposite his prisoner. It felt strange, having the man who wanted to take him prisoner in his prison. At first, Jason did nothing but just glare hatefully at him. Eventually, he just turned his attention to the floor, still scowling though.

‘I brought you dinner,’ said Nico cheerfully, sliding the plate of his half-eaten dinner underneath the bars.

Jason eyed it dubiously, like a foppish Frenchman does at English food.

‘The stockfish isn’t very good, but the peas should be tolerable enough for a man of your tastes. There’s also some hardtack if you want, if you’re more accustomed to biscuits.’

‘I’m not hungry.’ Jason pushed back the plate roughly, spilling a few peas along the way.

Then, Nico recalled that something was bulging in his pocket. ‘How ‘bout an apple then?’ He drew out the apple and gently placed it on the plate. For a sliver of a second, Jason’s eyes lit up at the sight of something actually edible to him. His frown immediately returned when he remembered whose hand was holding it. That did not stop it from taking it and hungrily gnawing away at it though.

‘To be honest, Jason,’ admitted Nico honestly, ‘I was not lying when I said that I wished things turned out better between us. Everything I do, have done, don’t take it personally. It’s nothing personal.’

‘If it’s nothing personal, why am I currently languishing in _your_ ship’s brig?’ he said as he tossed away the apple core.

Nico gave a short laugh. ‘What options did I have? I couldn’t just leave you bleeding out there, could I? While I sometimes do wish you are dead, leaving you to die would have been in very bad taste.’

‘You could have just shot me.’

The pirate shook his head and chuckled. He drew his pistol, still unloaded. ‘And risk retaliation? I’m no fool, Jason. It’s one thing to kill the odd sailor, but certainly another to kill someone of your rank. I don’t want Royal Navy ships on my tail for the rest of my life.’

‘So, you’re planning on ransoming me then?’ growled Jason. ‘Death would have been more preferable to being bartered for gold.’

‘Well, I did consider it, but I’ll have to return to Nassau for that, and I don’t have the time at present.’

‘Miss Levesque. She really was kidnapped?’ Jason asked curiously.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, you think I’d lie about her? Yes, she’s been kidnapped! And only God knows what those _bastardi_ are planning to do with her!’ said Nico, annoyed.

‘How long have you been together?’

‘ _Mio Dio_ ,’ Nico exclaimed. ‘It’s normally a long story, but I’ll make it short. I got to know her when she saved my life. I was – fourteen I think, when I met her. The man who taught me to fight and to sail, Mr. Ramsay, had a grudge with some plantation owner and ordered me to burn down the fellow’s sugar warehouse. I managed to do it, but when escaping, I got caught by the overseer. If not for her splitting the _stronzo_ ’s head open with his axe, I’d probably have been dancing a jig on the rope the next morning. She wanted to come away with me, away from that dreadful place, and how could I say, ‘No’?’

‘And you have both been together since then?’ said Jason, smiling once more.

‘If you mean romantically, no.’

‘Oh. Oh…’

 _Not again._ ‘Hazel’s my sister. Understand?’

‘Aye. It’s just…unusual, all things considered. Especially since she’s a…’ Jason paused to look at Nico and pulled an awkward face.

It was then Nico’s turn to stare long and hard at Jason who decided against finishing his sentence.

‘The ship that took her is heading to Havana,’ Nico told Jason, as he refilled Jason’s cup with water. ‘I don’t know what they’re intending to do to her, or whether she lives, but she’s a strong lady with an iron will and a sharp tongue. She should be able to fend for herself long enough for me to find her.’

‘Despite the incredible odds against you, I don’t suppose it would be wrong to wish you all the best. But forgive the possible insensitivity, but I have doubts that you came down here to feed me and make small talk with me,’ said Jason.

Nico had thought about that, finding it difficult to believe what he was about to say. Somehow, he had managed to concoct a plan that would have been unthinkable to him the day before. Reality had managed to sink in once his anger was tempered though. Going after the men who had taken his sister would require more than just cold steel and heavy cannonades. What choice did he have? Nico wondered. Possibly, his idea was a foolish one with no chances of succeeding, but it would not hurt him to try.

‘I’m seeking a truce with you,’ announced Nico.

The soldier’s lightning blue eyes narrowed instantly, a curtain of suspicion falling on them. He did not say anything.

‘Or I can leave you to rot here for the remainder of your days, if you’d prefer?’ laughed Nico.

‘Why would you want a truce?’ asked Jason, curiously and warily.

‘I need your help. But before I give you my terms, I’d like to show you something.’ Nico then paused to head up to his cabin to retrieve a particular treasure. Jason’s eyes glimmered when Nico drew the sword, _his_ sword, out of its scabbard. It was still quite a wonder to look out, well-forged and beautifully-decorated. This was the one thing that in more ways than one, had brought them together for quite a strange odyssey.

‘In return for your services, I will return it into your possession,’ said Nico, gesturing toward the blade. ‘You want it back, don’t you?’

‘I’d be lying if I said I did not. What are your terms?’

‘Help me in my tracking down of Hazel. You fight well with the sword. Train me the best you can.’

‘And what’s stopping you from running me through once you’re well-trained enough?’

‘You don’t believe I’ll keep my word?’

‘You are a pirate,’ Jason haughtily announced. ‘The trustworthiness of your words will always be in doubt to me.’

‘Didn’t I say why I am in no rush to kill you? Or are you too much of a stubborn _idiota_ to think I’m a bloodthirsty beast who has no sense of honour? As a sign of my sincerity and goodwill, I’m letting you out from this cage. I don’t know if you can kill me with your bare hands, but I’m trusting that you won’t, just as you should with me.’

Jason stared for some moments at the open, unlocked door, probably not believing what he was seeing and maybe, trying to digest what Nico had said. Just as he was climbing the ladder to the deck above, Jason spoke. ‘That other day at the ferry crossing, you had every opportunity to end me without anyone ever knowing that it was you. Why didn’t you? What made you spare me?’

Nico smiled. ‘Curiosity.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story? Have ideas? Thoughts? Comments? Leave it below! And preferably, with some kudos too!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exam's over. Yay! This time around, I thought of doing something a little different. Letter-writing was quite the only channel of communication available to all other than sending literal messengers. So, I leave our two boys alone for the moment to get another character's perspective.

_June, 1704_

_Dear Cousin Percy,_

_It has been over two months now since I last saw my dear brother off at the docks. Ever since then, I have spent every passing day praying that the heavens will bless his voyage with speed and safety. I did tell him to write to me once he had arrived safely in Nassau, something which he has seemingly failed to keep in mind as evidenced by the lack of correspondence between him and I. Should he have arrived safely in Nassau, I greatly desire that you would write to me to tell me so._

_My father too desires to know what has become of his son. Has Jason taken well to his new posting? Is he doing well in the New World? It is very unlike him to neglect his letter writing, as he was always consistent with the letters that he sent home from the barracks. Please inform him of my worries. My fears will not be allayed as long as I fail to receive any correspondence from him. I regret to bother you and your spouse with watching over my brother, but it would not do to have Jason alone in the colonies with no friendly face to turn to. Please, pass my blessing to my brother, should he already have arrived safely and inform him that I desire word from him._

_Thalia Grace_

* * *

Three weeks later, a mail coach arrived at the residence of the duchess, carrying only a single letter meant for Thalia’s eyes only. As soon as her employer had no need of her services, Thalia hurried outside into the garden to read it in peace and away from prying eyes.

* * *

_July, 1704_

_Dear Cousin Thalia,_

_I write with much consternation and distress of your brother, who has not been seen for over a week as of this moment. For your information, he did arrive in Nassau and Annabeth and I welcomed him into our home. However, something of great value to him was stolen by a certain villain and he did not cease tracking the man down. Your brother was last seen running into the jungle pursuing the felon. Nothing has been seen or heard of him since._

_Forgive me, cousin, for I have failed to watch out for him. I would like to believe that he is alive and well but I have nothing to prove this to me at the moment. Footprints left in the mud indicate that he pursued his quarry to the edge of a cliff, but they end there with no sign of his whereabouts. Some traces of blood were found on the scene. It is beyond my capabilities of telling if it is his blood. My fellow captains have been informed of his disappearance and I will keep my ears open for any rumours that may pertain to his fate. That is all I can do for now other than pray. I am sorry._

_Percy Jackson_

* * *

For the next few hours, Thalia Grace alternated between sitting down sobbing into her dress and cursing at the heavens. She could not decide what she should be feeling, fearful or incensed. Eventually, she retreated back into the manor and sat down at a desk, parchment before her and ink-stained quill in hand. She stayed up late that night, scrawling out numerous letters meant to be delivered to the governors of the colonies. Once she saw the mail coach off, she mounted a horse and headed straight for London. She had not prayed for the longest of time, but as she rode, she muttered a silent prayer to the Almighty, begging him to care for her brother, wherever he was.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico’s cabin was rather dark, lit solely by a nearly dying candle. A shaft of morning sunlight also helped to illuminate the place, peeking through the curtains. The ray passed over the sleeping figure of Nico, swathed tightly in his blanket. His bed had been set to the side closest to the windows. The lad stirred a little at the sound of Jason’s heavy footsteps, but just turned away from him and continued his slumber.
> 
> In the middle of the cabin, a heavy dining table sat. On it were rolls of maps, navigation tools, charts and a chest of ill-gotten treasures. Finding a quill and a piece of parchment, Jason sat down at the table to begin writing his letter. Just as he was about to do so however, a small red book bound with gold string caught his eye. He looked around to see if Nico was awake. He was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be flying off to London tomorrow night, and the lack of wi-fi and computers mean that I am unable to update the story this weekend. Instead, I'll update it today. Enjoy!

As he struggled his way out of his entangled hammock, Jason realised that he probably ought to have demanded for better quarters from Nico in return for his services. When Nico said that he had been allocated a more comfortable living quarters, he had certainly not expected that he would be billeted in a cabin the size of a large closet. Not to mention, if the brooms, buckets and mops outside were any indicator, this had probably been repurposed as the ship’s broom closet until now.

Despite his distaste at its state, Jason a little too tired to argue when he first entered his cabin. All that mattered was that he got his twenty winks. The hammock was far from comfortable, but it was a luxury compared to the cold wet planks of the brig. He had leapt in without a further thought and let sleep take him away. Now that he was wide awake though, he could properly register the sight of the dusty cobwebs strung between the ceiling and the walls.

Hurriedly extracting himself from the web of rope, Jason put his boots to the deck and stumbled toward the door. He leaned against the wall, groaning at the pain in his side. His body still hurt from the injury that he had sustained, but he was on the mend, a dark scar growing over the wound. A basin of (thankfully clean) water and a cloth sat on top a stool. Wetting the cloth, he wiped his face and was frankly a little disturbed that the cloth was blackened with wet dust. He spent a while trying to clean himself up as best as he could.

As he exited his cabin, Jason’s nose instantly shrivelled in disgust. The air within the ship’s lower deck was stale and rich with a distinct smell. No, not a smell. _A sickening stench._

The concoction of faecal products, urine, sweat and seawater almost seemed capable of searing his eyebrows off. Holding his breath, Jason hurried past the dozens of unwashed seamen whose faces brightened up with a collective grin when they realised what he was choking on. When on board the Neptune, Jason had spent most of his time in his cabin or up on the upper deck, blissfully unexposed to all the ghastly smells below deck. Here though, there was no getting away from the foulness.

 The smells were of the men, and on the Spectre, there were about ninety of the dirty buggers who jeered and mocked the soldier every time he had back turned toward them. Jason could not afford to care, instead just walking straight with his face deceptively stony toward the companionway, purposefully ignoring the menacing glowers of a few.

Several of them seemed to have taken up issue with his profession and or the fact that he had slain two of their crewmates previously, but if they were planning on confronting him about it, none seemed foolish enough to challenge him in combat. Jason was to some degree, thankful to Nico for letting him keep his sabre this time. In any case though, Jason was well aware that they had little to no respect for his authority and would not hesitate to knife him in the back provided he give them the opportunity.

Only when he could feel the light morning breeze brushing against his cheek did Jason finally take in a deep, needed breath. The weather was reasonably pleasant this morning, with the sea putting on a demeanour of calm and the skies a bright pink with fluffy clouds on parade. The Cuban coast on the portside looked quite tempting to the landlubber that was Jason. A few sailors were loitering around on deck, tending to the guns and fretting about how dangerous it was to be hostile sailing in Spanish waters. He looked around to see if Nico was on deck with them. He was not.

“You there!” Jason called to the nearest crewman. “Is the captain up and about?”

“Nay. He’s out cold in his crib. Up in the crow’s nest watching the Frenchies all night he was,” came the reply.

“He won’t be up any time soon, will he?”

The man chuckled quietly. “You don’t say.”

“How far are we from Havana?”

“A day and a night. We should be sailing into Spanish town by daybreak tomorrow.”

“Thank you, good sir.” said Jason, hanging onto the bulwark for support when the waves turned choppy momentarily. His mind went to the events of the past few days or so. He still found it hard to believe that he was on board a pirate’s ship, more specifically the vessel of the young lad who had stolen his sword a good two weeks ago. To him, ‘a strange turn of events’ was not really adequate to describe his current circumstances.

His mind wandered off elsewhere. He wondered if Percy was alright, having gone after the two French sloops. He also thought about Thalia, hoping that she was safe and well back home. _Thalia._ Jason wore a look of grim realisation when it occurred to him that he had not written to her about his wellbeing once he had arrived in Nassau. No doubt she would be constantly wondering what had become of her ‘little’ brother, considering that she had raised hell each time he had failed to write back during his time at the barracks.

He _had_ to write back to her. She did not deserve to be left agonising about his fate. He would indeed be surprised if she had not written to him yet. It did hit him that it was unlikely that he would be able to deliver his letter through the postmaster in Havana, considering that Spain and Britain were at each other’s throats at the moment. Perhaps he had to turn to a captain from a neutral country for assistance.

“Say,” said Jason to the crewman. “Do you happen to know where I can procure ink and parchment on board this vessel?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno, though I think the Cap’n might have something like that in his cabin.”

“Thank you again.” Jason bowed politely before turning and striding toward the front of the quarterdeck. The cabin door was unlocked, but he still knocked on it to see if Nico really was asleep. There was no response, so Jason saw himself in. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Nico’s cabin was rather dark, lit solely by a nearly dying candle. A shaft of morning sunlight also helped to illuminate the place, peeking through the curtains. The ray passed over the sleeping figure of Nico, swathed tightly in his blanket. His bed had been set to the side closest to the windows. The lad stirred a little at the sound of Jason’s heavy footsteps, but just turned away from him and continued his slumber.

In the middle of the cabin, a heavy dining table sat. On it were rolls of maps, navigation tools, charts and a chest of ill-gotten treasures. Finding a quill and a piece of parchment, Jason sat down at the table to begin writing his letter. Just as he was about to do so however, a small red book bound with gold string caught his eye. He looked around to see if Nico was awake. He was not.

“Wouldn’t harm to peek,” murmured Jason as he pulled it out from under the mess and opened it.

Rambling notes written in scrawls of Italian met his eyes as did a great number of other things. He could not understand any of the text, but the drawings that accompanied the notes were definitely of some interest. Jason was pleasantly surprised at the sight of such unusually detailed depictions of sceneries and people. In one page, he found himself staring at the portrait of a middle-aged woman who despite her sweet smile, had eyes that emoted her strength of will. Eyes that looked remarkably similar to a certain someone.

“The next time I find your nose poking into my journal, _ficcanaso_ , I’ll have you locked in the brig again,” a tired, grouchy voice warned.

Jason unintentionally jolted upward from his seat, caught red-handed and by surprise. Nico still laid in bed but this time, staring coldly right at the soldier, eyebrows perked up.

“Oh, sorry,” said Jason, quickly closing the book and trying to hide the guilty look away from him.

“What do you want, Grace?” grumbled Nico as he sat up, stretching his limbs. “It’s a little too early for you to be waking me up.”

“It’s about eight in the morning.”

“So?” Nico snorted. “I get up at twelve.”

Jason grinned slyly. “Not today,” he said as he pulled the blanket off Nico, much to the latter’s chagrin. “You wanted me to train you, didn’t you?”

“In swordplay, yes, but not in being a _pezzo di merda_ like what you are now,” growled Nico exasperatedly as he tried to clambered back into bed and tried to continue his slumber without a blanket.

“Well, unfortunately for you, this piece of shit wants to teach you to be constantly ready for a fight no matter what state you are in now.” Jason happened to notice a pair of broom handles laying idle in the corner. Taking one for himself, he tossed the other into the bed.

Sighing, Nico gave up and took up the stick before glowering fiercely at the disruptor of his sleep cycle. “Fine. I am very tired now and very angry now. Happy?”

“No. Meet me outside. I’ll let you rest once we are done.”

“When would that be?” asked Nico.

Jason opened the door, letting fresh air and sunbeams into the cabin. “When I say we are.”

One thing that Jason had already noticed from his previous combat experience with Nico was that while he was incredibly fierce and swift on the attack, he had little to offer in defence and even less in balance. Nico could try to give him the excuse that he was not fully awake, but the weakness in his fighting prowess was not something to be waved off.

“Stop. Trying. To. Attack. Me.” Jason cried as he parried another series of strikes before jabbing his weapon into Nico’s stomach.

Hoping to watch their captain trying to get a few good blows in, most of the crew had crawled out from below deck, proceeding to climb up the rigging and clinging to the masts. They watched from the ratlines, the rails and from the crow’s nest high above. Conscious that his own men were cheering each time one (mostly Jason) was scoring hits, he glared at them to silence them. “If I’m not attacking, what should I be doing?” snarled Nico.

“Surviving!” Jason paused and shook his head disapprovingly. “When you get into a fight, you should aim to survive first, then win. Victory is nothing if you are too dead to celebrate it.”

“And how should I be doing that?”

“Parry. Block. Disarm.” Jason helped move Nico’s arm and body into a parrying stance. “If you start taking hits, your own ability to hit back effectively will be greatly lessened.”

“But what if I have to kill my opponent?” asked Nico.

Picking up his stick again, Jason started to move on Nico. This time, Nico did not launch his own attacks, instead blocking Jason’s just as instructed. “The longer you fight; the more opportunities will be offered to you. Once their defence starts faltering, you should be able to spot an opening or two.”

“And what if you don’t?”

Jason smiled. “Then, I’ll have to make my own.” As he spoke, he launched a swift kick to the lower part of Nico’s left leg, causing him to stumble. For good measure, Jason then let off a harmless thwack to the back of Nico’s head.

“Understand?”

“Show it to me again,” said Nico, quietly.

“Certainly.” Getting back into position, Jason made a series of swipes at Nico who yielded little ground and deflected relatively well for a beginner. He raised his weapon as the preluding feint to his manoeuvre. But then something happened – Nico wheeled round, faster than Jason could have thought possible and in his hand was his pistol, which he stuck an inch away from Jason’s forehead.

A sly smile flitted over Nico’s face. “Surprised?”

“That wasn’t very fair.”

“And so was your kicking. Just say I win this round, will you?”

Jason stared at him for a moment before giving in. “You win your rest. Well played.”

“I think I’m fine with some more training. Show me how to disarm,” said Nico, with the earnest face that Jason had seen in quite a long time.

“Very well.” And with that, Jason continued passing on his knowledge of swordplay to Nico, whose chances of survival in combat were raised greatly that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly appreciated. Have thoughts or suggestions? Write to me!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Perdón?” mumbled Jason, sounding remarkably like an Englishman speaking Spanish, which he was. He glanced desperately at Nico, silently crying for help.
> 
> “What’s wrong with him? Does he have a problem answering?” asked the sergeant suspiciously, his hand edging closer to the sword hanging on his side. His aide lowered his musket at Jason’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from my vacation in England! Woohoo! Lovely people, boring food. Heh. Anyway, there's quite a bit of Spanish conversation in this chapter, Spanish which I have left translated in English and in bold. So, if there are any bolded lines, that's because they're actually in Spanish.

Havana twinkled in the sun as squawking gulls circled overhead, some perching among the forest of masts. A Spanish treasure fleet laid anchored within the harbour, no doubt preparing to set sail once the winds were blowing in its favour. Nico had been to Havana before on more than one occasion and overall, he liked the city. The people were friendly and the merchants rather generous with their money when buying contraband. It was an oasis of civilisation nestled between the wild jungle and tall palm trees. Stone buildings of white and yellow hues stood everywhere in the city, seared by the burning sun and subjected to the tropical winds.

Yet, as the Spectre sailed into the bay, Nico also felt that there seemed to be a different air about the place. A feeling of hostility. The heavy guns of the twin forts of Morro and San Salvador de la Punta eyed down at the crew and captain of the passing ship with suspicion. If not for the Spanish flag that had been hastily raised and fluttered from the Spectre’s mast, there was little doubt that the forts’ gun crews would have few quibbles about turning ship and crew into flotsam and corpses. This Spanish city was at war, and would show no mercy to any fools willing to risk their lives coming here, least of all an Italian pirate and an English colonel.

“Upon further contemplation, I believe we might be heading straight-on to our doom, di Angelo.” Jason stood beside Nico and rested his shoulders on the gunwale. He wore shabby civilian clothing so as to avoid drawing unwanted attention from prying eyes. “If we are caught here, I’ll be hanged for espionage and you for piracy.”

“My sister might have passed through here,” growled Nico. He paused, looking around at his crewmen who paled as they passed galleons filled with soldiers armed to the teeth. “Wherever she has gone, I will follow. She’s my only family I have. I can’t afford to lose her too.”

“I understand.”

The ship started to moor. The gangplank banged loudly like a clap of thunder when it was laid. Sailors from a neighbouring galleon rolled barrels of gunpowder across the pier and up onto the ship. Gazing toward the entire length of the port, Nico’s eyes peered through the gently swaying masts of Armada warships, merchantmen and fishing boats. A French flag fluttered in the far distance, but a quick glance at the gunboat flying it disappointed him. _Where could they have gone?_

“So,” said Jason, moving down the gangplank to finally get his feet on dry land. “What’s the plan?”

Of its own accord, Nico’s hand shot up and covered Jason’s mouth. “ _Sei cazzo folle_?! Speaking English in Spanish territory?! Do you _want_ to blow our cover?!” he hissed angrily, glancing around to see if anyone had heard Jason’s words. Other than a sleeping beggar, there was thankfully no one within hearing range.

Jason forced his hand away from his mouth, annoyed. “No need for that. I know how to be discrete.”

“Just shut up!” Nico had noticed two Spanish infantrymen walking down the pier, staring right at them. A sergeant and a grunt. “I’ll do the talking while you play dumb.”

“ ** _Alto_!** ” ordered the sergeant. “ **Your ship is not on the schedule to dock here. Identify yourself.** ”

 **“I am Captain Andrés Belmonte of the Spectre, the humble merchant vessel behind me. We have come here to seek protection from the elements and the threat of Dutch privateers. We were sailing from San Juan to Veracruz when Dutch ships spotted us and gave chase. A storm allowed us to shake them off but we are low on supplies and I lost a good number of crewmen. We wish to harbour here to rest and replenish our necessities.”** Nico spoke somewhat slowly and cautiously, trying his hardest to fake an accent. While he did speak some Spanish, he had never really spent much time using it and thus, never acquired the Iberian accent that many Spanish speakers had.

 **“Well, Captain Belmonte, it seems that you do have a good reason to stop here. I will inform the harbourmaster of your arrival,”** said the sergeant. Nico bit his lip when he realised the Spaniard had turned his eyes toward Jason who stood sullenly behind him. **“You there! At the back! What provisions do you require?”** _Oh, cazzo._

 _“Perdón?”_ mumbled Jason, sounding remarkably like an Englishman speaking Spanish, which he was. He glanced desperately at Nico, silently crying for help.

 **“What’s wrong with him? Does he have a problem answering?”** asked the sergeant suspiciously, his hand edging closer to the sword hanging on his side. His aide lowered his musket at Jason’s chest.

 **“No! No! It’s alright. He’s just very shy. He’s…uh…he’s my nephew. Mi estúpido sobrino,”** Nico blurted out hurriedly. He cursed himself for forgetting what the Spanish word for ‘uncle’ was.

Both sergeant and grunt stared silently at Nico, then at Jason, then back at Nico again. **“You seem a little too young to be his uncle,”** said the Spaniard sceptically, raising an eyebrow. **“And you two lack any resemblance.”**

 **“I was an ‘accidental’ child.”** Nico paused and leaned in closer toward the two soldiers. **“And I think he might not be his father’s son.”**

The grunt looked unconvinced but the bemused officer gestured at him to put the musket down. **“I have seen stranger things before. Go on about with your business. Make sure your stupid nephew doesn’t get into any trouble.”**

“ _Sí señor. Muchas gracias, señor._ ”

The sergeant looked him in the eye for a moment and glanced at the sleeping beggar. Then, he and his charge turned and walked back up the pier. They disappeared into the morning market crowd as a group of Spanish cavalrymen who rode by on their steeds, preparing to embark on one of the departing galleons.  

“That was far too close for comfort,” whispered Jason. “What did you tell them?”

Nico gave a sly smile to his companion. “Nothing important. Come on. I think I might have a way to find Hazel.”

* * *

  **“Down that street into Execution Square. The harbourmaster has his dinners in the Red Pig tavern. It is hard to miss him. He’s as big as a barrel.”**

“ _Gracias_ ,” said Nico, slipping some reales into the butcher’s bloody hands. The man quickly slipped the coins into the pocket in front of his apron and whistled cheerfully as he went off to clear up his stall.

“The harbourmaster has a log of all ships that come in, their passengers and their load.” Nico explained to a curious Jason. “If Hazel’s ship passed through here or is still here, I’ll be able to find out by looking through the log.”

Jason frowned as the two entered Execution Square where a scaffold had been erected. An execution of two men and a woman was about to begin. The trio stood with their hands tied behind their backs, staring with terrified eyes through the nooses that would bring their lives to an end. Keeping his eyes away from them, Nico sat down with Jason on a bench with their backs to a weather-bleached stone wall. As he watched the charges being laid out against the unfortunates, Nico did contemplate the possibility that perhaps in the near future, his luck would run out and he would face the same fate as them. While sudden death was a fact of life for any seaman, it was hard to stomach the thought of death at the hands of the law. Retirement seemed a better alternative. _Perhaps if a pardon was offered in the near future…_

“Why piracy?” Jason asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Why turn to a life of piracy?” asked Jason again. He paused as the sickening crack of necks breaking was heard as were the cheers of the onlookers. “You could and probably should have made a living through good, honest work. What does brigandry have to offer you that lawful commerce cannot?”

For a moment, Nico was not sure how to answer that. He had asked himself the same question many, many times before. Glancing up at Jason, he found the soldier’s blue eyes staring down at him. They were hard to read, but Nico had a gut feeling that Jason was asking in good faith. A weary sigh escaped his lips. He reached down into shirt and pulled a necklace over. He rubbed his fingers over the single golden Venetian ducat that hanged from the string, something he had the tendency of doing whenever he had any doubts about himself.

“I am a pirate,” he finally replied. “And I’m skilled at sailing and taking things that don’t belong to me. I act that I like doing it, but I don’t. The thing is, I’m just good at being a pirate.”

“You can always make a decent wage as a merchant,” insisted Jason.

“But not fast enough. I need the money, alright? Fast.”

“Whatever for?”

Nico huffed amusedly. “You, son of rich folks, are asking me why I need money?”

“For your own use then? Would that not mean that you are being simply greedy?”

“I plan to put it to good use,” snapped Nico. “Better use than you would anyway.”

Jason breathed hard, but then relaxed a little. “How?”

The pirate’s fingers continued circling around the coin. “This is the only reminder I have of home. When I was ten, something happened that separated me from my family. I didn’t understand what was happening then, and I don’t understand now. If you think I want gold for women and many rounds of drinks, you’re wrong. I just want to know if my family survived. I just wish to go home. To be home.”

The two men were silent once Nico had finished speaking. After a long pause, Nico said bitterly, “I’m not going to argue with you the morality of my actions.” He looked right at Jason. “But do you at least understand my intentions now?”

“I do,” said Jason, bearing a small smile on his face as he clapped Nico on the back. “You have my sympathies for what the tragedy that befell you and your family.”

“Thank you. You’re the first person other than Hazel that I’ve told this to.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nico’s eyes met Jason’s. _He can be quite the condescending ass at times, but he does seem to be a good person. A rarity in a profession requiring brutality. He does have such stern eyes though. Stern and strikingly blue._ Did he imagine it, or was there a sudden, indecipherable feeling of longing inside him? The guilty look that appeared momentarily on Nico’s face made things murkier. Nico shrugged inwardly and turned away from the puzzled Jason. Perhaps he was imagining it. Perhaps it was nothing. No time and place for such sinful feelings anyway.

“That’s him,” said Nico after what felt like a long awkward silence.  He nodded toward a portly elderly man who emerged from the doorway of a nearby building. The bottle he held in hand was not necessary to tell that the bloke was roaring drunk. He clumped his way through the square, angrily shoving people out of his way.

“Well, he’s certainly not much of a looker,” noted Jason, glumly. He rose along with Nico, pointing at the log that was wedged under the man’s sweaty armpits and started to follow the trail and stench of burps, flatulence and vomit that left onlookers scurrying away with their noses pinched.

 **“Bloody puta. Telling me what to do. Me!”** grumbled the harbourmaster as he finally turned into a deserted alleyway. He stumbled onto a flower bed and belched unashamedly. Nico bit back his laughter when snores began to reverberate through the alley.

“Now’s our chance,” whispered Jason. “He wouldn’t even know what hit him.”

Nico nodded. Holding his breath, he started to make his way toward the man, keeping in the shadows and moving quietly as humanly possible. The shadows that the warehouses around them casted provided him with excellent cover. He had just made half the journey when he suddenly noticed something odd. A tall shadow cast onto a wall. A form that looked vaguely human. A figure that leapt down from the roof onto the ground between him and the harbourmaster.

“Bloody Christ,” gasped Jason, unsheathing his sword and pulling Nico back to safety. “What in God’s name?”

The figure slowly rose from its kneel, drawing a sword, no, two swords from its belt. One glinting with silver and the other with gold. It was definitely no spectre but rather a person. Nico’s eyes widened in surprised when he recognised those rags before him. A beggar’s rags. _The_ beggar’s rags.

Jason pointed his blade at the beggar before demanding, “What do you want?”

The lower half of the man’s face was concealed by a rag, leaving nothing exposed other than his cold, calculating eyes. He remained still, unmoving, almost as though he was waiting.

“We outnumber you,” warned Jason. “You do not have good odds against us.”

“I’m afraid that’s what you are gravely wrong, Colonel Grace,” said a calm voice. A calm feminine voice. _Is he…a she?_

In an almost synchronised manner, window shutters flew open throughout the lane as musketeers aimed their guns at Nico and Jason. The heavy footsteps of carabineers pouring into both ends of the alleyway rang through the air. “Drop your weapons! Put your hands behind your back!” roared an officer.

Nico looked around for an exit, an escape route, something to get him out of this mess. There was nothing. No alternative unless he wanted to be shot and hacked to pieces. Nico cursed himself for not having realised that he had been led into an ambush. “ _Cazzo_! What do we do now?”

Jason’s sword and pistol fell with an audible clang to the ground. “What else?” he said quietly as he knelt onto the ground, hands behind his head.

“I truly wish we could have met in a more amiable manner, but it is most unfortunate that my duty must come before my hospitality,” said the Spanish ‘beggar’. She turned to the carabineer officer. **“Take them to my office. I will deal with them shortly.”**

**“Si Señora Reyna.”**

“Wait, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” asked Jason, peering up curiously at his captor. Nico also looked closely, and sure enough, there really was something familiar about her eyes and voice. Even under her disguise, Nico could feel her smile.

“Perhaps,” she said, exposing and massaging the bruised skin on her neck. “You’ll find out soon enough. But for now, I would suggest that you two not struggle.”

That was the last thing Nico heard before his head was covered with a burlap sack and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed. Want to speak to me to make a suggestion or a comment? Write ahead! Want to show your liking of the story? Leave a kudos!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?” Nico asked curiously.
> 
> An amused smile slowly materialised on her face. “I’ve been called many names: informant, spy, saboteur, assassin; but my friends call me Reyna. I am Señora Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay. Had some stuff to do over the weekend. And Chapter 15 is out! Hope you enjoy reading it. Ciao!

By the time Jason managed to wrung the sack off his head, the thick wooden door that led to the holding cellar had been slammed shut. He could hear the turn of the key in the lock, barring any possibility of escape. A solitary oil lamp hung from the ceiling, providing some badly needed light to the disoriented soldier. His eyes were as restless as the flickering flame. His thoughts were restless too. _Captured. Again._ _So much for all that combat training._ Had he travelled this far and long simply to be caught in another trap, this time set by devious Spaniards?

He clenched his fists before reaching for his sides. His sword and pistol were missing. Taken. Again. He struggled onto his feet, thankfully unbound. He scanned his surroundings, trying to find any weak spot in the building’s structure that could be exploited as an escape route. There were none. The room’s four walls were made of solid break and the floorboards above too far up and too sturdy to break through. The truth began to dawn on him, that the only way that he and Nico were going to get out of their prison was to go through the door. _Wait. Nico._

Nico’s lean figure laid slump in a corner of the room, his head still encased in burlap sack. Strangely enough, unlike Jason, his hands and feet were tightly bound with thick rope. Jason did not know how long he had been down here with Nico tied up, but just by setting him free, he could tell that Nico’s anger and energy had barely been affected by his ordeal. On the contrary, he seemed to be very much awake. And very, very foul-mouthed.

“ _Luridi codardi! Fornicatore di maiali!_ ” he roared as soon as the sack was off his head. Once he could get to his feet, he was hammering away furiously at the door with his fists. “ _Apri la porta! Miserabile pezza di merda! Stupidi cazzo! Figlio di puttana! Ritardato figli di cani!_ ”

“Nico, that’s enough,” warned Jason, worried that infuriating their captors would result in utterly unpleasant consequences. He climbed up the stairs to tug Nico away from the stairs, only to rebuffed angrily. Nico glared at him witheringly before continuing to pound away on the door.

“It’ll be enough when they fucking open this. Fucking. Door!” cursed the lad before giving the door a pointless kick. The impact barely shook the door. Distant mocking laughter could be heard from the opposite side. Frustrated, Nico stormed down the stairs, his face a dark mask and his eyes bitter. He stalked toward the far corner and plopped himself onto an empty wine barrel. No doubt it was a dark day for him.

“Come on now,” said Jason gently but firmly. “You need to get it together. The door will not open no matter how many curses you hurl at it."

“Then what am I supposed to do? Sit down here and wait like some gentleman house guest?!”

“I’m saying that we cooperate,” maintained Jason. “For now. Whoever’s up there, they have the upper hand over us. If you want to have any chance of seeing Hazel again, you might want to play nice with them.”

“You are aware what the Spaniards do to pirates right?” Nico countered, mouth quirked in annoyance but eyes clearly wary. The lucky ones they hang, the less lucky _stronzo_ languish in their prisons for the rest of their days.”

“And that is exactly why you ought to work with our captors for the time being. Work with them, see what these fellows want and maybe work a way out of here. It’s still within the realm of possibility that they are completely unaware of your…profession.”

“The woman who followed us. She knew your name,” Nico bluntly pointed out. “If she knows that, she quite likely knows that I’m no innocent trader.”

Jason tried to conceive a reply but found that he could not. It would be foolish to think their captors were that dim-witted. The presumably Spanish woman had followed them from the moment they got here and had set up an ambush just to trap them. The assumption could be made that they were dealing with a force of some intelligence rather than an inexperienced novice. Upon this realisation, Jason slumped down onto the ground, his back leaning against Nico’s barrel.

“So, what do we do now?” said he after some moments of resigned silence. He heard a weary sigh from above. A few seconds later, Nico was on the floor next to him, shoulder to shoulder, looking somewhat uncharacteristically downtrodden.

“I don’t know. Getting captured was not something I planned for. Things were actually going perfectly before this _merda_. _Cazzo_. _Dannazione_! We were so close.”

“True. But I suppose you have gotten out of situations stickier than this one?”

Nico chuckled. “Well, this is my first time being captured. So, this is what it feels like.”

“I should know,” replied Jason gruffly.

“Right.” Jason was a little more than surprised when he felt Nico resting his head on his shoulders, but it felt strangely comforting, especially in this dark cellar somewhere in Havana. “I miss Hazel. She would know what to do.”

“You’ll find her. We’ll find her,” Jason assuredly said, despite his own doubts about the matter. Soon enough, he was drifting off into the realm of sleep. He lacked certainty and consciousness to know whether it was just his mind playing tricks on him when he felt his hand slipping into Nico’s and taking hold of it. The lamp’s light went out.

* * *

 

“Despertarse! Señora Reyna wishes to speak with you,” called down the rough voice of the carabineer captain. He grumbled impatiently while Jason and Nico stumbled up the stairs, blinking rapidly in the Cuban sunlight that poured through the curtained windows. Jason’s throat was dry, his voice hoarse after having not a drop of water for the past few hours. Asking the captain for a drink seemed to be a possibility, but the man’s sour expression told him to stay quiet about his thirst for the moment.

“What’s going on?” asked Jason. In reply, the captain turned on his heels while two troopers armed with muskets positioned themselves right behind him and Nico. Rather roughly, they prodded to move on down the hallway. The doors to most of the rooms were locked, but the place was ornately decorated with furnishings resembling that of a European manor. On a nearby desk, his sabre and pistol laid alongside with Nico’s. _No way to reach them yet._

Passing through the door at the end of the hallway, Jason found himself standing in modestly-sized dining hall, with a simple breakfast of pastries and tea having been laid out for three. The sight of food that was not hardtack or salted fish quite appealed to the hungry man. “Señora Reyna will be joining you shortly,” he heard the captain curtly say before closing the door, leaving him and Nico alone.

“You saw where they are holding our weapons, didn’t you?” asked Nico in a hushed whisper.

“I did. But you can’t seriously be thinking that they would let us walk out of here that easily?”

“If we move quietly and quickly, there’s a chance they won’t notice,” he insisted.

“Oh, I wouldn’t try that,” said a low, toneless voice behind them. “It’s quite unlikely to succeed with me around.”

Jason turned to find himself looking at a dark-haired lady of similar height to his own but perhaps a few inches shorter than he was. Out of her hideous (but effective) disguise, she had garbed herself in a simple maroon dress. Now that he could have a good look at her, he found that this Spanish opponent of his actually did look somewhat pleasing to the eye, if not for the serious look on her face and the bruises around her neck.

“The woman at the pier,” realised Jason. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

She curtsied politely. “One and the same. I must thank you again, thank you both for the kindness you showed me that day. It is quite difficult to find such an act of valour in these violent times.”

“You speak English.”

“My profession demands that I do. I can also speak French, German and some Swedish if you prefer. _Pratar du svenska?_ ”

“Who are you?” Nico asked curiously.

An amused smile slowly materialised on her face. “I’ve been called many names: informant, spy, saboteur, assassin; but my friends call me Reyna. I am Señora Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano. But enough with the introductions. Come, sit, eat. Forgive the poor spread. Luxury foods are hard to come by nowadays with the Royal Navy hunting down every Spanish vessel in sight.”

“It’s quite alright,” mumbled Jason as he coated a bun with butter. It had been quite a long time since he had good, warm bread straight out of the oven, so it was a struggle to avoid wolfing everything down his throat. “Nothing really beneficial about being fastidious about food.”

“Indeed. Capitán, it has dawned upon me that I have not made your acquaintance.”

“di Angelo,” said Nico. He glanced at her, an uncertain frown in his eyes. “It’s di Angelo.”

“Right. A Venetian, I presume from your choice of words the last time we spoke.”

“How – how do you know my name?” asked Jason.

“Well, it’s my business to know everything that happens within 500 miles of this city. Including the posting of a new officer in Nassau.”

“So, the mob was right. You really were a spy,” Nico noted.

Reyna pursed her lips and did not respond to that. Instead, she clasped her hands together and leaned forward in her seat. “Forgive me for this, really, but I must get straight to the point. The Governor believes you are English spies. I do not.” She paused to sip her tea. “So, tell me. Honestly. Why are you two here? Why have you come to this place? Do you seek something? Or someone?”

Jason turned to exchange looks with Nico, wondering whether Nico would reveal the truth of their purpose here or if he was being cautious with what he said. In any case though, the need to know seemed to win out. “My sister. Hazel. She was taken from our home during a French raid and I am going after her. The ship that took her, I last saw it heading here.”

“Huh, a rescue mission then? I see.” Reyna turned serious. “A bold move to come here in any case, especially with him.”

“ _Me_?” asked Jason, somewhat indignantly.

“If not for our previous encounter, I would probably have ignored Capitán di Angelo. We occasionally have Sicilians and Neapolitan traders coming into harbour. But you, on the other hand, Coronel Grace have no knowledge of Spanish and never bothered to conceal your accent. So, yes. You make a terrible spy.”

“Duly noted,” muttered Jason. He rolled his eyes sardonically when he noticed Nico smiling mockingly at him. “We meant no harm to the city. I am just here to help Nico look for his sister.”

“I just want to know which French ships entered the harbour,” explained Nico. “If I can find out, I could track the ship down and find where they took my sister. Please, Señora Reyna. She’s an innocent woman who deserves no harm. I have to find her. She’s the only family I have left. Please.”

Reyna’s stoic expression seemed to soften a little at Nico’s pleas. “I hear you. I will do my best to help. But tell me, do you happen to know the name of the ship that took her? Maybe its captain?”

“I don’t. It’s a sloop though, if it helps narrow it down.”

“A sloop…” repeated Reyna. Jason could immediately see a sudden change in her eyes. The look of realisation. “Forgive me for the strange nature of the following question, but, is your sister…black?”

Nico leaned forward, eyes widened with interest. “You have seen her?”

“Curly hair? Speaks the French of _La Louisiane_? Very feisty when angry?”

“Where was she?” asked Nico.

Reyna appeared to be somewhat disconcerted by something. Jason took note of the sour note that appeared momentarily. After a while, she spoke again. “She’s fine, if you’re wondering. Very angry but still healthy. She didn’t step foot in this city though.”

“What? Where did they take her? Who are the _stronzo_ who took her?”

“I would like to answer that, but I am afraid that such important information must come at a price,” said Reyna. Jason felt a little alarmed when he noticed her looking a little guilty all of a sudden. “Shall we bargain then, Capitán di Angelo?”

As the morning dragged on and the tea grew cold, Jason found it increasingly difficult to shake off the persistent feeling that he or rather, Nico, was walking straight into the lion's den. There could only be so much that they knew about Reyna in such a short time. What assurance did he have that she would hold up her end of her 'bargain'? And given her line of work, it was unlikely that she was going to ask Nico to run a shopping errand or anything of the sort. Whatever doubts he had, Jason chose to stay silent. Sometimes, there was nothing one could do other than wait and see what would unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed. Want to show your appreciation? Click the kudos button. Want to make a suggestion? Comment!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Probably. But before that…” Percy called for another tankard of ale which he promptly received. “I suppose we can make a toast to our future victories. And coincidentally, that would involve teaching you how to drink. Now, raise your ale and make the toast.”
> 
> Jason did so willingly. “To all our future successes. To all possible glories within our reach. And to a happy, contented life and a comfortable death in a warm bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Chapter 16 is up! Most of this chapter is a flashback, so I hope that clears up any possible confusion. Cheerio!

** London, 1694 **

It was a somewhat chilly afternoon in April the first and only time Jason entered the imposing yet stunningly magnificent place of worship that was Westminster Abbey. That day, Jason’s father had been summoned down to London to attend to some political affairs in Westminster Palace. Not wishing to leave his children alone in the manor, he had brought both Thalia and Jason down to the city so as to be able to keep an eye on them. At least, that was what he had intended to do. By the time he had stepped into the Commons Chamber, any concerns about his children’s whereabouts went flying out of the window.

At first, Jason waited outside the door, hoping that his father’s business was to be a short one, but he could only wait for so long before his feet grew stiff and his bones started to ache. Thalia had left him alone, saying that she had better things to do than to babysit before wandering off in the direction of the nearest public house. His patience having finally worn thin, Jason left his perch to explore the place. One of Westminster Abbey’s doors had been left ajar, which to an incredibly bored fourteen-year-old nobleman, looked very much like an opportunity to kill time by going exploring. And that was how Jason ended up placing his rump on the Coronation Chair.

* * *

 

“Oi! You’re not supposed to be here!” roared an indignant rector, having spotted the teenager parking his bottom on the sacred seat.

Jason quickly got up and glanced at the seat to see if he had left any scratches. He had not, but seeing the man’s face turn from red to purple, he chose to apologise. “Oh, sorry, sir! The door was open and…I think it’s best that I take my leave here.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. Get him!” The man lunged at Jason’s feet, only to obtain a painful lump on his head, courtesy of the Stone of Scone. Jason would have had a good laugh at the sight if not for several guards who had witnessed the commotion and were starting to give chase.

“I did say I was sorry,” grumbled Jason. He turned a corner and turned another to find himself in the cloisters of the church. The hurried footsteps of the pursuing men grew louder as they approached. It was quite unlikely they would throw him into the Tower simply for sitting on the Coronation Chair, but Jason was not really looking forward to the likely prospect of being kicked black and blue before being thrown out into the street. _Maybe I might get away through the garden?_

“Fancy seeing you here,” muttered a familiar voice. Just then, a hand grabbed his shoulder suddenly. “Hold still,” the voice commanded. Before he could protest, Jason’s head was immediately burdened by the suffocating mass of a powdered wig. If not for the urgency of the situation, he would have pointed out that his cap was still atop his head.

“And now, say nothing,” warned the voice as the guards poured hurriedly into the cloisters. From the corner of his eye, Jason saw a figure pointing toward the east, the direction heading away from him. “I saw a boy running! He was headed that way!” said his mysterious benefactor.

“Right! After him!” The men scrambled off that way, hunting for their quarry like bloodhounds on a fox hunt. They could not possibly have been particularly good at their job though, since by the time they realised that they had been played like a bunch of idiots, Percy Jackson had already spirited his cousin safely out of the Abbey to a nearby inn.

“You sat on the Coronation Chair?” asked Percy, not bothering to conceal his disbelief. “ _The_ Chair?”

Jason laughed. “Well, you could say I was just keeping it warm for our next king.”

“Oh, spare me the humour,” groaned Percy, despite his smile. He beckoned to the innkeeper for a pint of ale. “A pint of your best stuff and some milk for this young lad.”

“You can’t be serious? I can handle the strong stuff.”

Percy rolled his eyes at his younger cousin while downing his drink. “Perhaps. But I don’t think Uncle Grace will approve of me teaching you how to drink. I think Thalia does that well enough on her own.”

“She never shares though,” snorted Jason. The milk served was a little old, and tasted that way too. Disturbed, he stopped drinking and instead turned his gaze toward the busy street outside the inn. London was certainly far busier than he had expected and it escaped him why anyone would call the city ‘Jolly Old London’. The city was old, that was certain, but it barely looked the part of jolly. The streets were streams of both traffic and human refuse, and the mud and stench of the streets could only be described as ghastly and nauseating. The fresh air of the countryside was heaven-sent to human beings, while the odour of London was heaven for rats and their fellow vermin.

“I suppose you have heard the news?” asked Percy suddenly. He had fixed him with a serious expression.

“What news?”

“That my family, Annabeth and I are leaving for the colonies.”

“Oh.” Jason looked at him, feeling a little startled. “I heard your father mentioning that you might be moving, but I didn’t know he meant to the colonies.”

“Ha. Quite an important detail missing there,” chuckled Percy. “Well, I am heading westward, to Nassau in particular. Father has been given a commission there and he thinks that the climate there might of more benefit to us all rather than the dreary skies we have here.”

“England isn’t that bad.”

“Well, the food is dull and the weather is depressing, but, you’re right. It isn’t that bad and it’s still home. But, the thing is, some arrangements have been made that if I go with him, I will be able to secure a position for myself in the Royal Navy,” explained Percy.

Jason nodded. “And that’s what you have always wanted,” he said to his cousin.

“Exactly! Think about it!” enthused Percy. He always did mention his love of sailing and how he wanted to win glory and honour at sea. “Me sailing the high seas, braving tumultuous storms, engaging pirates in fierce, bloody combat. Call me the next Drake. Or maybe Raleigh.”

“Didn’t Drake die rather painfully of dysentery? And if my knowledge of history is correct, Raleigh ended up without a head by order of King James.”

“Well, it’s not really how they died that matters, it’s how they lived,” insisted Percy, a little smarted by Jason’s unkind barb. “Brave men, adventurers, both of them. Sure, I might risk a rather unhappy death in the colonies, but there’s a far greater potential of me living the life I want there rather than here.”

“And is Annabeth fine with going?” asked Jason.

“Fine? She’s quite happy actually. The plants and animals of the New World always have been of interest to her. I suppose she will be able to occupy herself in her studies for a very long time.”

The bells of Westminster Abbey rang across the sky as the doors opened for the faithful congregation waiting to attend the evening service. Jason watched the crowds stream through the Great Door, being greeted by the same rector who had chased him away from the Coronation Chair, with a hat covering his bald head and the lump on it. He wondered if the bloke would recognise him if he sneaked in with the crowd. Once the doors had closed, he turned back to face Percy.

“I doubt you will ever be coming back once you leave,” he said quietly.

Percy let out a sigh of admittance. “Quite so. My father’s already made arrangements to sell our home and some of our belongings have already been shipped out to Nassau. But who knows? I might come back for the occasional visit. Sailing on my own ship, of course.” He paused to glance and grin at his pensive cousin. “You aren’t already missing me, are you?”

Mockingly spitting on the ground, Jason hardened his stomach taking another reluctant sip of ‘milk’. “Well, it’s a bit of a bummer to see you leave. My maternal cousins are…odd to say the least. So, yes, I will probably be missing your company.”

“Aww,” Percy chortled.  “No need to pull at my heartstrings there, Jason. You can always write to me if you need to talk. Not that you’ll have much time for that if it’s true that you are joining the army soon.”

Jason’s face turned a little sour at those words. “It wasn’t my decision to enlist, it was Father’s. He wasn’t really bothered to ask me if this was what I wanted. ‘Be like my father,’ he said. ‘Better a brave, dashing soldier than a constantly quibbling, bootlicking bureaucrat like myself.’”

“Well, that’s a shame but I can see where he’s coming from. I think you’ll do splendidly fine.”

“Maybe,” muttered Jason. “I’ll soon find out I guess.”

“Probably. But before that…” Percy called for another tankard of ale which he promptly received. “I suppose we can make a toast to our future victories. And coincidentally, that would involve teaching you how to drink. Now, raise your ale and make the toast.”

Jason did so willingly. “To all our future successes. To all possible glories within our reach. And to a happy, contented life and a comfortable death in a warm bed.”

“I will drink to that.”

“Aye. Let’s.”

* * *

 

**Off the Bay of Ovando, Cuba, 1704**

“God damn it, Percy! Why did you just have to be here?” groaned Jason, as he helped his cousin lay down on the deck. The stab wound in the captain’s abdomen was gapingly deep and bleeding profusely. Jason was no doctor, but he could tell with utmost certainty from experience that the possibility of Percy meeting his maker within the next few hours had been quadrupled. If the thought of Percy’s demise perturbed Jason, it did not really matter to Percy himself who stared at his cousin with an expression that reeked of a mixture of surprise, relief, horror and anger.

“Ja – Jason? What are you doing here? We all thought you were dead,” wheezed Percy.

“I know. And I’m sorry that I didn’t inform you otherwise. I would have done so if I had the chance.”

Percy choked back on pained laughter. “Well, that’s a relief. Your sister has been writing very angry letters to me, demanding to know if I have any updates on your whereabouts.”

“Oh, God. Thalia,” whispered Jason, realising that he had been cruel to his sister without knowing it. “I’ll write to her as soon as I return to Havana.”

“Havana?!” Despite Percy’s agonising pain, he still had the strength to grab Jason by the collar and stare him angrily right in the eye. “Please, please, don’t tell me you have absconded to be a pirate and a traitor to the Crown!”

“I have not! I swear to God! Look, it’s far more complicated than it appears. But I am no traitor. I am just trying to help save a woman’s life.”

“It sure doesn’t look that way,” growled Percy, dragging himself to his feet. He stood momentarily before collapsing back onto the bloody deck. “Why would you even need to take my prisoner in that case?”

Jason sighed. “An exchange. We need him for information.”

“We?”

“Jason,” said Nico, softly with the slightest hint of guilt. “We have to go now. There are Royal Navy ships coming.”

Percy’s eyes darted to glare at the pirate captain who had caused him much pain, then back at Jason whom he stared at questioningly. “You know, the Governor will want to know why my crew is short of sixteen hands and where my prisoner has gone. And there is nothing I can do about concealing your involvement in all this. And your sister deserves to know what I've seen."

“I understand. But please, trust me on this. I am not a traitor. I am doing this to save a life.”

Percy nodded, thinking. Into the silence, he said, “I trust you, but I pray and hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I wish the same too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed at any point of time. Don't be shy! Talk to me! Am always open to suggestions.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is going to be pleasant, is it?”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really sorry for the week's delay. I had something going on last week that disallowed me from updating the story. Really, really sorry.

Only when the Spectre had sailed out of sight of Royal Navy did Jason have the opportunity to realise that accepting Reyna’s deal had led Nico to pay a very heavy price. Never before in his life had he set his eyes on such a ghastly scene, with countless pools of blood streaming across the gun-deck. Jason felt the colour agonisingly drain from his face as he carefully avoided the pieces of flesh and bone that bobbed in these crimson pools.

“Oh, God! Please, no, no, no. Please, God,” whimpered a gunner who clutched at his shattered kneecap, where his lower leg was now dangling from by fine threads of tissue. A piece of grapeshot had most horrifically nestled itself there. Shaking his head vigorously, Jason tried to stop envisioning all the gory details so vividly pictured in his head. His efforts were in vain though.

Considering the condition of the crew, it was no surprise that the ship herself had taken quite a beating. Many sections of the gunwale had been ripped to splinters by shot and all that remained of the mizzenmast was a stump of wood. Jason could tell that Percy had trained his crew with much meticulousness. What else could be the explanation to how this victory could have been so Phyrric? This crew had been used to easy pickings of harmless merchant vessels. Attacking a fully-armed ship of the Royal Navy was a completely different story however.

The pungent smell of burnt flesh still stained the air. To add to the cacophony of suffering and death were the screams of wounded men being dragged below deck by their panic-stricken colleagues. On the quarterdeck, the dead laid in rows, having been wrapped with spare sails. Things were ominously quiet except for the splash the corpses made when they landed in the water.

“ _Mio dio,”_ a distraught voice mumbled quietly. Nico’s head hanged in despair as he looked around at what remained of his crew. “I never wanted this to happen.”

At first, Jason wanted to say something about feeling that the deal was a lopsided one to begin with, but seeing that despair was already pulling his friend down to dismal depths, he just wrapped his arms around Nico. There are times where silence is a valid and the best option. This appeared to be one of those times.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” Nico finally said after stifling his tears for the time being. “If I knew that...that captain was your cousin; I wouldn’t have gone for it.”

Jason turned his gaze toward the horizon, so as to conceal their furious blaze. He growled bitterly, “I don’t know if she knew, but if Reyna was aware of my relation with Percy and still sent us after him without warning, she will most certainly pay for this.”

“Did you…do you think he will survive?”

“Percy’s a strong chap,” sighed Jason, praying to God for strength in the eventuality that he came face to face with Percy in the future. “If there’s anyone who can pull through, it’s him. But if he doesn’t…” He could not find the words to finish his sentence. The heartbreak he would cause to Annabeth if Percy succumbed to his wounds were beyond the realm of horrific thoughts. Even if he survived, how could he ever look Percy in the eye again?

“ _Disculpe! Disculpe_!” A lanky young Spaniard was making his way toward Nico. He seemed troubled by the leftovers of the carnage strewn across the deck but once he stood before Nico, he put on a smile, albeit a grim one. He bowed, his curly mop of hair flopping in the wind. “Gracias, Señor. Gracias. I owe you so much for saving my life. How can I ever repay you for your kindness bravery?”

Jason could not help frowning when he recognised the man as the same one who had been with Reyna in Nassau. So much death just to rescue this miserable Spanish spy from English gallows.

“Twenty good men are dead because of you,” snapped Nico in reply. The waves of fierce impatience were rolling off him as he glared scorchingly at the spy. His knife soon found its way to the man’s throat, the edge pricking the skin. “You should pray that Reyna actually has the information I need, otherwise I will be dumping your corpse in the sea myself, _culo_.”

“Easy now,” stammered the man, his smile turning more nervous when he realised how close he was to having his throat slashed by his saviour. “Señora Reyna is no liar. If she promises information for my safe return, she will have information.”

“If she isn’t a liar,” Jason harshly countered. “She would have mentioned the fact that the brig you were on was being captained by my cousin.”

The spy’s face turned ashen. “Oh, señor. I didn’t know. And I can assure you, she’s better than that you think she is.”

Jason huffed. “The assurances of a spy. Now why am I not trusting of that at all…”

“Señor, I can swear, on my honour, that…Señor, I think you might be bleeding.”

“Jason!” gasped Nico.

Looking down, Jason could not understand how he could have missed the gaping, bloody hole in his abdomen and the rapidly growing scarlet stain on his shirt. Grimacing in pain, he found that the strength was leaving his knees and he crumpled onto the deck. As the agonising pain engulfed him, all he could see was Nico scrambling toward him. Then, all went black.

Jason feverishly awoke to find himself lying on his side in a bed, Nico’s bed. His head spun and even he could feel the unhealthy heat emitting through his breath. A cool hand stroked his forehead and he drank thirstily from the bowl of water pressed to his lips.

“Hey. Come on, wake up. Come on, don’t go back to sleep just yet. Are you in pain?” The question flowed from Nico’s mouth with quite a noticeable amount of genuine concern. He wore a worried look, justifiable after all that had happened that day.

“I have felt better,” admitted Jason. He tried to sit up but as he did, a jolt of pain shot through the entirety of his body as if a bayonet had been thrusted deep into him. “Bloody fuck!” he wheezed as he forced himself back down onto the bed.

“ _Cristo_! Lie down. You’ll make things worse for yourself if you get up. You’re in no shape to get up any time soon.”

“How bad is it?”

Nico bit his lip, never a good sign. “There’s a musketball inside you. It doesn’t look like the cloth went in with it, but I can’t tell for sure.”

“Well, you can’t let it sit inside me,” laughed Jason weakly. “You’ll have to get it out.” Despite having some difficulty, he managed to tilt his head down to glance at the wound. A yellowed linen cloth laid atop it as a makeshift dressing. The wound itself was a rather ghastly sight with a good chunk of flesh having been torn apart by the ball. The wound was already starting to close and heal, but if left inside any longer, the possibility of an infection killing him was dangerously high.

He had been inside a field hospital before. He had seen bullets being painfully extracted out of screaming soldiers. Some never survived the pain and others succumbed to infections. The unluckiest ones had their skin turn black, suffering gangrene infections. Once that happened, either death would follow, or they would pull through, lacking a significant chunk of their flesh. That, veterans had told him, was the worst death a soldier could have. To Jason’s knowledge though, having a gangrenous stomach was unlikely to be a survivable condition. A bullet to the head would be a kinder fate than that.

“I don’t know if I can. I’ve never done this before.” Nico’s hands were shaking violently as he took up a pair of forceps. Terror was flashing across his face as chills of apprehension coursed through him. “What if you die and it’s my fault?”

Despite the excruciating pain, Jason smiled, amused. “Well, if you don’t remove it, I’ll definitely die. And anyway, I’ll have to die sooner or later. I can’t see why not now on this ship with you by my side.”

“ _Cazzo_ , Jason,” Nico stammered. He dropped the forceps and slumped onto the floor, leaning against the bedpost. “I am no doctor. I might end up killing you here, right here, right now. You know, we could try to get to Havana to get it out.”

“It might be too late for me by then.”

“Then? You think it’s best that I try to help you first?”

“Well, it’s going to be fucking terrible for me,” admitted Jason. “But at least I will not be sleeping with the fishes any time soon. If you can learn to sail, you can learn to heal. I trust you to keep me safe.”

Nico did not say anything for a while. Then, he rose to his feet and sighed. “Just don’t die on me, please,” he begged.

“Huh. I’ll try my best not to.”

Carefully, Nico undressed the wound and tossed aside the dirty bandage. Glancing worriedly at Jason’s face, he bit his lip as he started to push the forceps pass the skin into the wound. Despite his best efforts, all the pushing and shoving that had to be done was causing Jason to virtually pass out with the pain. “God…bloody…fucking…damn it,” growled Jason through gritted teeth. The pain intensified tremendously when Nico had to widen the wound with his fingers.

“Hold still!” begged Nico. He poked around some more before finally clenching onto what he was looking for. Jason uncontrollably writhed, crying out in pain as the bullet was pulled out of his body. The bloody sphere of metal was not a sight to behold, being covered with bits and pieces of Jason’s flesh. Nico stared at it for a moment, disgusted, before wrapping it in the discarded bandage.

“I could really use a strong brandy just about now,” groaned Jason.

“I’ve some Brunello.”

“Wine? For fuck’s sake, I’ll drink anything after all this. Give it to me.” He drank thirstily, feeling the fiery liquid warm him and more importantly, abating the pain in his abdomen for a moment. Just as he thought the worst was over, he then noticed the flask of clear liquid next to him. The sour smell of vinegar drifted past him.

“This is going to be pleasant, is it?”

“No.”

It took much strength to keep laying down instead of springing up when Nico dabbed the wound with a vinegar-soaked linen. It stung so much, but there was nothing much to be done about it if he wanted the wound to heal properly. His face screwed up with the pain that he could feel his head of all places throbbing intensely. The pain subsided once he was comforted with the sight of Nico dabbing at his wound with a cotton wad. He let him wrap some clean bandages around his body but winced when Nico bound it a little too tightly.

“Well, that was…,” muttered Jason, finally breathing with ease after minutes of panicked and pained gasping. “That was bloody awful.”

“Will you heal?” asked Nico, worriedly.

“Time will tell. And I sincerely hope so.” Jason turned his head to smile reassuringly at him. “Maybe you’ve healing hands.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “ _Stronzate_. What could I have done to earn these ‘healing hands’ of yours?”

“It comes naturally to most, I assume.” Again, Jason tried to sit up but almost immediately, the jolts of pain made a return and he slumped back into the sheets. “Looks like I will be bedridden for a while.”

“Looks like it.”

“Well, I suppose now will be best time to write the letters that I need to write.”

“How are you going to do that laying down?”

“That’s why I’ll need your help,” said   Jason, with his sweetest begging eyes. “I’ll dictate and you’ll write.”

As Nico got up to get pen and paper, Jason suddenly said, “And also, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

For the first time that day, a slight smile appeared on Nico's lips.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyna did not reply immediately. It was a calculated pause, as though she was trying to play for time to answer an unexpected query. To decide whether confirmation or denial would better suit her interests. Finally, she replied with a question, “Suppose you and I knew, would you have gone with our deal?”
> 
> “Answer the question!” snarled Nico, gritting his teeth. “You knew, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next week, the rescue!

“ **Senora Reyna, I cannot express the amount of gratitude that I have for you at the moment!** ”

Valdez the spy grinned with the enthusiasm of a frightened rat as he made a quick, polite bow in the direction of his approaching superior. Reyna, on her part, could barely look less amused as she pursed her lips in annoyance. Nico had to bite his tongue at seeing Valdez’s face turn somewhat ashen when he realised that flattery was not going to save him from a tongue-lashing. **“Enough with the pleasantries,”** she barked. **“You ought to be thankful that for your incompetence in Nassau, instead of subjecting you to severe punishment, I have merely elected to send you back to Seville.”**

“ **Oh, mierda. Anything but Seville! Show mercy!”**

 **“Enough! My decision is final.”** She then motioned to a pair of guards waiting nearby to escort her former charge toward the docks. Nico hurriedly stepped aside to let them pass, somewhat bemused by Valdez’s assertions Seville was somehow Dante’s tenth ring of hell. As soon as the poor man’s whimpering was out of hearing range, Reyna then spoke.

“Forgive me for asking, but where is Colonel Grace?”

“He’s on the Spectre, resting after having had a bullet nearly tear his stomach open,” said Nico, the harshness in his voice not concealed in the least. A frown of uncertainty adorned his face as he suddenly asked, “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know that the English captain was his cousin?”

Reyna did not reply immediately. It was a calculated pause, as though she was trying to play for time to answer an unexpected query. To decide whether confirmation or denial would better suit her interests. Finally, she replied with a question, “Suppose you and I knew, would you have gone with our deal?”

“Answer the question!” snarled Nico, gritting his teeth. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I’d watch your tone there, captain,” warned Reyna, calmly. “You stand on Spanish soil at the moment and under normal circumstances, I am authorised to bring you in, dead or alive.”

“I could have killed him and wouldn’t have known a thing. Jason wouldn’t have known a thing until it was far too late to make amends!”

“Could have? So, the cousin lives then?” noted Reyna.

“Barely,” growled Nico.

The spymaster said nothing, instead choosing to turn her back toward him and pace toward a window overlooking the bay of Havana. The room was quiet for a moment, the only noise coming from the bustling street below. “I see. You believe that I knew of Colonel Grace’s relations with the captain and chose against telling you in fear that you would never have accepted my terms.”

“It seems like it.”

“Tell me something,” said Reyna as she spun on her heel to make her way to her desk. “In the event that the captain was killed or will die of his injuries, how will any of this matter to you? The man is of no relation to you and I doubt you know him in person. So, why exactly are you bothered by this?”

“Because Jason would never forgive me if the man died. And would never forgive himself.”

“And what would it matter if that happened?” Reyna took out of a drawer a stack of papers which she laid on her desk. She stared intently at Nico, as though gaging his honesty.

“Jason’s…” Nico was not sure how to answer her question. He took in a deep breath and tried again, “I cannot do that to that to Jason. He’s…he’s a friend. He’s risked a lot for me, for Hazel.”

“That’s true,” nodded Reyna. “I’ve heard rumours from my operatives in Kingston that a certain colonel has been stripped of his rank and declared a fugitive after attacking a ship of Her Majesty’s.”

“ _Cazzo._ The point is, he’s already sacrificed more than enough for me. He doesn’t have to suffer more than he already has. He’s a good man, and deserves better than what he’s going through because of me.”

“He fears that he has his cousin’s blood in on his hands?”

“He does. He really does.”

“I see,” nodded Reyna. “You do not wish to trouble the colonel any more than necessary.”

“I do,” said Nico, quietly. “Like I said, he deserves some respite from all this.”

“You care about him, don’t you?”

Nico sighed. “He’s a bit of a pain at times, being English tends to make things worse. But he’s definitely a good man, and I l…I like him. He’s brave, dashing and with his heart definitely in a right place.”

“You sound like a perro enamorado.”

“Perdono?”

“To clear things up, no, I was not aware of their relationship. I do find it quite telling that you think rather lowly of me though.” Reyna then unfurled a map onto the table. A map of the Caribbean. Her index finger dragged itself from the French city of Port-au-Prince to a nearby islet. “Your sister has been taken to work on a plantation here, on an island north-west of Port-au-Prince.”

“As a slave?” Nico snarled, his lips curling in disgust.

“An accountant actually, but yes, still a slave. The plantation owner is an acquaintance of mine. Men call him the Castilian.”

“He’s Spanish?”

“Born Spanish but raised in and serves France. Speaks with a Castilian accent, thus the name.”

“How do I get to him?” asked Nico.

“Get to him?” Reyna gave him an unusually surprised and puzzled look. “You aren’t thinking of killing him, are you?”

“Why not?” growled Nico. “He took my sister and he deserves to pay for all the pain he has caused us.”

Reyna shook her head and chuckled. “Because you’ll be cut down the guards he’s surrounded with at all times and if you plan to go after him at sea, the 58 guns that his ship carries will make short work of that bundle of sticks you call the Spectre. Go rescue your sister. Forget revenge. He’s away in Port-au-Prince on business for the next week or two, giving you more than enough time to infiltrate his plantation and find her. That’s all I can help you with. Good luck.”

Just as he turned to leave, Nico suddenly remembered that he had carried a satchel with him for a reason. Jason’s letters.

“Senora Reyna, could I ask you for a favour?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed! Don't be shy!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason smiled. Signalling that Nico to wait in the undergrowth, he crept to the open door of the warehouse. There were no overseers in sight, at least for the moment. With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, he pulled his pistol from his belt and fired a shot that rang through the air. In the distance, torches were lit and a large party of guards rushed toward the warehouse, planning on investigating the source of the gunshot. They entered the empty warehouse, wondering if they would catch a thief or a runaway slave. Only one observant man noticed the trail of gunpowder on the ground. By the time he could put two and two together, Jason had already lit the fuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the rescue commences. Might be posting an update within the next two days. So stay tuned.

The night was unusually dark. A clap of thunder rumbled in the distance as dark clouds circled menacingly overhead. Their presence had snuffed out the moon and stars, cloaking the plantation and much of the island and its jungle-covered hills in bleak darkness. However, for a certain pair of a soldier and a pirate, the darkness was their friend. It served to allow them to stalk through the foliage undetected while they made their way toward a tall sturdy tree overlooking the plantation.

Gripping onto a branch with one hand, Jason tugged at it a little roughly to see if it could bear his weight. It barely budged, which meant it could. He pulled himself up and offered a hand to help Nico up. “Thanks,” mumbled Nico as he gripped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. A strong gust of wind threatened to push him off the branch, but just as he started wobbling, Jason instinctively and swiftly wrapped his arm around Nico’s waist. Holding him tightly.

“Easy there.” Jason’s curiousity perked up when he thought he spotted a sudden flush of red on Nico’s face, if that was even possible to see through what little light they had. “Don’t want to get yourself hurt now, do you?”

“Oh. Sorry,” whispered Nico, backing away from him. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out a spyglass and peered through it, scanning back and forth across the plantation and its grounds to note the guard positions and the place’s layout.

Jason himself took a gander at the plantation. For what was supposed to be a mere sugar plantation, the place was strangely well-fortified with high spiked walls surrounding the perimeter with only three visible entrances, well-guarded gatehouses. Nico had considered launching an all-out assault with his crew, but their numbers had already taken a good hit and there was a high possibility that they would all simply be massacred at the gates. A more discrete means of getting Hazel out was the optimal choice.

Within the four walls were vast plots of sugar cane fields. Perfect to sneak through undetected, Jason took note. However, there were brightly-lit watchtowers overlooking each plot, presumably with a sharpshooter manning each one. Each plot was flanked by what appeared to be pathetically small huts, quivering violently in the wind. Barracks for about two dozen slaves each. On a small hill in close to the wall was the plantations windmill, the tallest structure within the compound. The sugar warehouse stood a stone’s throw away from it.

Turning his eyes toward the far end of the compound, Jason took note of the very heavy guard presence around the plantation’s mansion. The patio was well-lit with a gang of rowdy overseers gathered around a table of some sort, gambling and drinking from the look of it. In contrast, most of the mansion’s windows were dark except for one solitary lit one in the west wing. Maybe that was where Hazel was being kept, if it was true that she had been forced into the mundane and thankless task of bookkeeping. In any case though, it was unlikely that he and Nico could make an entrance through brute force.

“About sixty guards altogether,” muttered Nico. He glanced at Jason with a look that Jason interpreted as worried doubt before tucking his spyglass into his belt. “The north gate is the least guarded, but it’s also the furthest from the mansion. But I don’t know how we’re going to fight our way through the guards there.”

“We don’t.”

“Huh?”

“A distraction,” said Jason, softly. “A distraction is what we need. The bigger, the better.”

Nico frowned, but nodded anyway. “How big are we talking about?”

Smiling slyly, Jason pointed a finger at the idling windmill. “That windmill over there. It would be quite a shame if it went up in flames, wouldn’t it? Maybe add the warehouse to the inferno. And how devastating would it be for the overseers if the locks for all the barracks were all mysteriously unlocked, letting the slaves make a run for the hills? In any case, the guards will have quite a whole lot of trouble to deal with.”

For a while, Nico did not respond, instead sitting still on the branch, deep in thought pondering the sagacity of Jason’s plan. Jason was half-expecting him to reject his suggestion outright when he noticed a small smirk slowly spreading across the Italian’s face. Comprehension had dawned on the young man’s face.

“Colonel Jason Grace,” Nico solemnly said before letting loose a quiet chuckle. “You may wear the coat of a soldier, but you have the mind of a scoundrel.”

Jason responded with a light shrug of his shoulders and a wide grin. “Well, it would not be too wrong to admit that I have been hanging out with the wrong company for quite a while now. Your influence would eventually have rubbed off on me sooner or later.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” asked Nico, curtly.

“That remains to be seen.”

“So, we’ll have to split up, yes? So, do you want to break the locks or deal with the windmill?”

“I’m not much of a lockpick,” admitted Jason. “So, setting the windmill alight is best suited to be my task, I suppose. But you’ll have to help me take out the men in the watchtowers, quietly. If they raise the alarm, it’s all over. And I can’t shoot them without alerting everyone to our presence.”

“ _Nessun problema_.” Nico glanced at the bandolier of twenty throwing knives hanging from his belt. He then drew a deep breath. “But what if something goes wrong?”

“That cane field nearest the mansion. We’ll meet there if the plan goes to hell. And if it doesn’t, meet me inside the mansion. Go around the back preferably when the guards are occupied.”

“ _Bene_.” Just as he moved to dismount the branch, Nico paused his movement and turned to look right at Jason. His face had turned serious and strangely solemn. “If I can’t meet up with you for whatever reason, go look for my sister. Promise me that you will get Hazel out, with or without me.”

“Touch wood, lad,” Jason warned, nervously. “You ought to be the one seeing her out. It shouldn’t be any other way.”

“But will you?”

“…Yes.”

Nico looked up at Jason and stared into his eyes for quite a few moments. Jason stared back, wondering what was going on in that mind of his when he suddenly felt a pair of warm lips brushing against his and that warm feeling that lingered on in the air. He blinked, surprised and found it surprisingly hard to breathe all of a sudden. The first thought that came to mind was to rebuke Nico, but another part of him was strangely yearning for something else, something more.

“Stay safe. _Andiamo_.” Nico quickly disappeared into the foliage before Jason’s feet touched the ground. Shaking his head at the sudden turn of events, Jason put aside his conflicted feelings to follow him and made his way to join him at the north gate.

The two guardsmen standing at the gate had Jason’s sincere sympathies, though little good did it do for them whose lives were to be cut short within the next minute. The lantern that had lit up their post fell to the ground, its flame extinguished and leaving them in darkness. “Merde.” They had no opportunity to take note of the knife that had dislodged the lantern and neither would they have the time to react accordingly to having knives thrusted up into their throats. Jason only heard some unpleasant, strangled gurgles before the silence returned.

Jason cautiously crept over toward the pair of warm bodies before pulling them away into the concealing foliage. Upon making sure that no one would stumble upon them before the plan’s culmination, he returned to find the gate ajar, a bent and used lock pick indicating Nico’s successful entrance. Quietly, he slipped in and closed the gate. Nothing, no cold breeze, no howling gale, could have dissipated the feeling of utter tension that was stiffening the air that moment. Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, Jason turned and slipped into the rustling cane fields.

Swiftly but carefully, Jason stalked through the fields, keeping a keen ear and a sharp eye for any incoming patrols. The strong gusts of wind kept the cane rustling, drowning out any unintentional noise that he may have caused. Even then though, it still was near impossible to stay completely undetected. The first watchtower he came across was manned by a man who to his credit, was probably the only guard taking his job seriously, as he immediately spotted Jason creeping through the field. Jason stopped paralysed even as the man raised his musket right at him.

It happened fast enough and could not have been more timely. One moment, the guardsman was about to pull the trigger, the next, he was plummeting to his death, knife firmly embedded in his back. The sickening crack his corpse made when it reached the ground was thankfully not loud enough to draw attention.

“Be more careful!” hissed an angry Nico, his dark eyes glaring at Jason through the cane. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

“Sorry,” Jason whispered. He noiselessly clambered over a fence and lurched back into the adjacent field. He passed clusters of guards and occasionally picked off lone guards so as to make his, Nico’s and Hazel’s eventual escape a little easier. From his limited knowledge of French, he could tell that the guards were moaning about having to guard the plantation even as a maelstrom approached the island. Unbeknownst to them, Jason was about to give them a little more to worry about.

It happened by chance that Jason saw an overseer exiting the warehouse without bothering to lock the door. As soon as the man had disappeared out of sight, Jason then hurried to the door and slipped inside. Hundreds of sacks of sugars greeted him as did an assortment crates and barrels and a piece of cannon. The sugar more than likely amounted up to several tens of thousands of pounds, more than what most peasants back in England could see in their lifetime. Then again, much human suffering had been involved in gathering this bountiful harvest.

The hemp sacks and sugar were very much flammable, but when he noticed a few large kegs of gunpowder in the corner, a more explosive idea developed. Moving in the shadows and with one eye kept open for movement, he rolled two kegs up the windmill hill. A third he emptied to make a trail of gunpowder stretching all the way from the windmill into the warehouse.

“What’s taking you?” Nico stepped out from the cane field to find Jason’s handiwork.

“The barracks, you’ve picked their locks?” asked Jason.

“Yes. The women and children are already gone, the men plan to delay any pursuers. They await a signal.”

“Well, they’re definitely going to get a loud one.”

“What do you mean?”

Jason smiled. Signalling that Nico to wait in the undergrowth, he crept to the open door of the warehouse. There were no overseers in sight, at least for the moment. With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, he pulled his pistol from his belt and fired a shot that rang through the air. In the distance, torches were lit and a large party of guards rushed toward the warehouse, planning on investigating the source of the gunshot. They entered the empty warehouse, wondering if they would catch a thief or a runaway slave. Only one observant man noticed the trail of gunpowder on the ground. By the time he could put two and two together, Jason had already lit the fuse.

The pitch black night sky was then illuminated by the pillar of flame that thrusted toward the heavens. Even with his hands over his ears, Jason was somewhat deafened by the sheer force of the explosion. The air was filled with black smoke and embers floated gently in the air. The windmill’s sails groaned as a dying man would, being engulfed in flames. The sugar had also been set alight, burning furiously and mercilessly. In the distance, chaos reigned as overseers suddenly found themselves pounced upon by angry slaves.

“Come on,” whispered Nico, slipping away toward the mansion. From further away, Jason could hear shouts and knew if there was a better time to breach the mansion, it was now.

The halls of the mansion were dark and empty, with only a maidservant peering into the hallway and slamming it upon seeing two men brandishing swords running past her door. From the darkness beyond, Jason could hear incessant sounds of fists pounding on wood. Hazel?

“Watch out!” cried Nico, leaping onto him and forcing him onto the ground.

The blunderbuss was an unreliably inaccurate weapon on the open field, but in an enclosed space, it could shred anything or anyone to ribbons. The butler of the mansion was quite a large man, and his dead eyes showed that he was far from happy to see unwanted guests running around in his master’s hallways. Another blast of balls sent Jason and Nico scurrying for sturdy cover behind a desk. The wood splintered upon being peppered with shot.

“God damn it!” growled Jason as he fumbled with his pistol. He poked his head out to try to get a clear shot, but another blast blew away any chance of that happening. Realising that the next shot would penetrate the shattered wood and turn him and Nico into dead men, Jason tried once again to take a shot at the man.

Just as he was about to do so however, behind the butler, a shadow moved. The butler twisted round to find a heavy brass candlestick caving in his skull. The man staggered slowly, eyes fluttering in their sockets as he collapsed and breathed his last.

“Nico, is that you?” called a familiar feminine voice.

“Hazel!” Jason stepped aside to let Nico run toward his shaken sister who dropped her grisly weapon and hugged her brother tightly. They exchanged quick kisses on the cheek and a few words that Jason could not catch.

“Nico, you’ve come for me,” she whispered.

“We’ve come for you,” corrected Nico, his hand beckoning Jason to come forward. He did so, feeling a strange mix of emotions, at least one of them being a sudden shyness. He blushed to the roots of his hair and hurriedly mumbled something about finding a way out, but Hazel put a stop to that. “Monsieur Grace,” she said. “I’m so confused as to why you are here and why you chose to help my brother. I did not think much about you but now, I do know that I cannot thank you enough for risking all for Nico. How can I ever thank you? Or even repay you?”

“I do not require payment for my duties, madam,” smiled Jason. “I did it for – well, I had to help.” Hazel nodded at Nico. They shared a silent exchange of words. Another sudden explosion reminded them that time was short and by the time anyone bothered to check, the trio were long gone and sailing for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed at all times.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate, angry, confused, Nico grabbed Jason’s sleeve and pulled him back until they were beyond Percy’s hearing range. Jason could barely look Nico in the eye when the latter spoke to him. ‘What the hell have you done?’ the pirate demanded bitterly. His hands had already balled into fists by this point.
> 
> ‘They would never have let you or Hazel or anyone else return to Nassau alive. It was only right that you should be allowed to return home without being hunted down like -,’ Jason was not allowed to finish mumbling out his explanation when Nico decided to bury his fist into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really, really sorry for the delay. It's just that a lot of things have happened in my life and writer's block is a bitch. I have about two chapters left and I will certainly finish this work.

It was on the sparkling white sand and by the turquoise-blue sea that a cheerful campfire was set up by the crew of the Spectre. Under the swaying palm fronds, her crewmen sat circled around the fire, bottles of rum in hand and tired smiles on their faces. The smell of roasted fish and turtle soup whiffed through the air. The Spectre herself was moored offshore, standing out against the resplendent rays of the setting sun like a dark silhouette.  

As the slowly cooling water lapped hungrily at his feet, Nico could feel the sun’s dying rays embrace his olive skin. Walking further down the shore, his body was consumed with cold chills as the texture of the grainy, wet sand squished between his toes. A soft gentle breeze wafted the familiar scent of salt over him. A few of his men cheer him on as he passes them, prompting him to force a smile in response. Once he was out of sight though, he dropped the act.

Nico stopped in his tracks, sighing as thoughts of what the future held washed over him. While he was more than elated to be finally reunited with Hazel, he had been thinking about quite a number of things as of late. Hazel had been pestering him to share his fears, but the time was simply not right. One truth had made itself rather clear to him however. His time sailing the seas scouring for gold and adventure had to come to an end. Sure, buccaneering was a doubtlessly profitable enterprise all things considered, but how much longer could it last?

The winds of fortune were starting to change for the worse. With both the British and the French on the lookout for him, there was simply too much at stake to risk being caught. He was still young, and there was simply no way that he could see himself continuing his course without meeting his end hanging from the gallows. While the war was still raging furiously on in the continent, rumours were abound that peace accords were within a few years’ reach. Once peace returned, the navies of empires would no doubt turn their attention to the pesky raiders leeching off their profitable trade routes. Pesky raiders that included one Captain Nico in their number.

‘So, what then?’ he mumbled to himself, kicking the sand idly. He had made his fortune, so a triumphant return to the Old World seemed the most logical step to take. He was a native of Venice, after all. There was no reason why he could not simply assume a new identity and start life afresh in one of the many great cities of Europe. Or he could just head north to the Thirteen Colonies to try his luck there. Then again, he had never stopped entertaining the possibility of returning to Venice with his accumulated wealth to uncover the truth behind the misfortune that befell his family. He was still holding onto the minute hope that maybe, just maybe, part of his family actually managed to survive and were still waiting for his eventually return. It was not a realistic hope, but it was a comforting one.

A sudden rustling from some nearby bushes drew his glance. Drawing his knife, Nico was somewhat bemused when a rather large seagull waddled out of the foliage, locking gazes with him for a full minute before squawking away in a flurry of sand and feathers. Just as he was sheathing his knife, he heard footsteps crunching in the sand behind him.

‘You should be thankful it was just a gull.’ Jason grumbled as he plopped himself onto a nearby log embedded in the sand. He made some space for Nico to rest his feet. ‘Wandering off into the darkness without telling anyone has never really ended well for anyone.’

‘I can take care of myself. You of all people should know that,’ said Nico in reply. He sat down with his friend, feet stretching out into the sand.

‘I do, I do. Scotch?’ Out of Jason’s pocket emerged a metal flask with the fleur-de-lis engraved.

‘Huh. Where did you get that?’ asked Nico, curiously examining the flask of pure bitter heat.

Jason grinned shyly and took a swig of his drink before offering it to Nico, ‘Well, let’s just say I took my fair share of the spoils of war during the raid on the plantation.’

‘Huh. I think there’s a word for that. Looting, I think,’ sneered Nico. ‘Quite dishonourable coming from a soldier of the Queen’s army.’

Jason looked surprisingly hurt. ‘Well, I was thinking of sharing it with you, but if you insist,’ he mumbled. Then, there was a long awkward silence, broken only by the incessant swishing of the tide coming in. It did not take long before Nico felt a pang of guilt pulling at his heartstrings. He motioned to Jason to pass him the flask and took a quick swig from it.

‘ _Cristo_ ,’ gasped the Italian, the gold liquid searing his throat. ‘It’s like drinking fire.’

‘It’s an acquired taste,’ laughed Jason, patting Nico on the back as he gagged a little. ‘On the first swig or two, it burns your throat, but once you get used to it, the warmth in your belly is something to look forward to. Especially on cold, lonely winter nights when you want to forget life’s troubles for a moment or two.’

Nico shrugged. ‘Right. It’s not that bad, it’s just…I think I’ll stick with _Toscana_.’

He then sighed. ‘So, after all this is over, where do we stand?’

‘Well, honest to God, I have not an inkling,’ said Jason in reply. He cast Nico a brief sideways glance that he noticed. ‘Especially with that affair with Percy and all, I can tell with some certainty that I will be stripped of my rank and charged with treason and piracy. Maybe, for all I know, that’s happened already.’

‘So, returning to Nassau would be akin to walking into a snare, wouldn’t it?’ said Nico.

‘Probably.’ Jason admitted forlornly. Unbuckling his scabbard, he laid his sword across his lap, its naked metal glimmering in the dying rays of the Sun. ‘It is quite that I will be greeted with open arms, more likely with immediate imprisonment followed by a trial, then execution. All because of this damn thing.’

‘Well, I was the one who stole it, so you could blame me,’ Nico chuckled.

‘I suppose I could. But, what’s the use of doing so?’

‘It’s a life on the run for us both, then?’

‘I can’t really see myself as a fugitive. I am…I am used to a certain type of lifestyle. I am a soldier, not a criminal. I have my family’s honour to keep and fleeing the justice of the law simply will do a disservice to my name.’

‘You’re not planning to turn yourself in, are you? That’d be suicide.’

‘Maybe. But at least I will go to my death with my head held high.’

Suddenly, a boom like a clap of thunder echoed across the waters. Lights appeared offshore as a frigate flying English colours made its presence known. Nico immediately drew his blade as he spotted a rowboat being launched and started making its way to shore, toward him. He had to get back to his crew, prepare the Spectre for immediate departure and leave before -

‘No need for that,’ said Jason quietly. His hand tightened around Nico’s as he rather forcibly coaxed him to lower his weapon. ‘They’re not here for you.’

‘Jason, what’s the meaning of this?’ Nico asked with the slightest hint of a quaver in his voice. Had Jason chosen to betray him after all they had been through? He stared Jason right in the eyes, his eyes starting to turn watery, furiously demanding an answer when a voice called out from the rowboat.

‘Ahoy, Jason! Fancy seeing you alive after all this time!’

‘Percy! I think I can say the same to you.’ Jason smiled half-heartedly as he brushed past Nico to greet his cousin. The captain seemed to have recovered remarkably well, if the lack of visible bandages was any indicator. There was a slight limp in his gait though. Then again, he was now sporting an entire cuirass on his torso, so it would have been hard to tell.

‘If you’re planning on apologising for that kerfuffle we had the other day, there’s no need for that. I don’t hold anything against you since you were acting under the corruptive influence of…certain unsavoury quarters.’ Percy paused to skewer Nico with a sour glare. He then turned back toward Jason with a rather dolorous expression. ‘You know; you don’t have to do this. I can still provide you with a degree of clemency. A head start of fifteen minutes perhaps, enough for you to slip through my fingers.’

Jason shook his head. ‘I have already set out my terms. I will most certainly uphold my end of the deal. Will you?’

‘Certainly. Clemency for your…friend over there and his crew. Just follow me to Kingston and all charges will be dropped.’

Desperate, angry, confused, Nico grabbed Jason’s sleeve and pulled him back until they were beyond Percy’s hearing range. Jason could barely look Nico in the eye when the latter spoke to him. ‘What the hell have you done?’ the pirate demanded bitterly. His hands had already balled into fists by this point.

‘They would never have let you or Hazel or anyone else return to Nassau alive. It was only right that you should be allowed to return home without being hunted down like -,’ Jason was not allowed to finish mumbling out his explanation when Nico decided to bury his fist into his face.

‘I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask you to be my sacrificial lamb. I don’t need anyone to die for me. _Cazzo_ , this is fucking _Venezia_ again, isn’t it?!’ Nico could almost feel the hot searing pain that was washing over Jason as he broke his nose, blood trickling down his face and his throat. On his side, Jason seemed mildly perturbed by this sudden outbreak of violence, but if he was trying to fight back, he was doing an utterly poor job at it as he just stood there in silence, taking the beating in silence.

Forced to breathe through his mouth, Jason choked his words through bloodstained lips. ‘I didn’t too. But it’s the right thing to do. And I have no regrets about doing this. But, I take it that you do not agree with what I am doing. For that, I am deeply sorry.’

Even more incensed at what seemed to be a hollow apology, Nico swung his other fist into Jason’s stomach, forcing the soldier to bend over with the impact. He probably would have punched him again if not for the fact that Percy and his men had raised their muskets at him. ‘Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it!’ he snarled. ‘Don’t you fucking understand?! What I’ve been through? What I’ve lost?!’

At this point, Jason shakily stumbled onto his feet. When Nico saw Jason’s bloodied face in all its grotesqueness, bitter tears of fury started trickling down his cheeks. Jason tried to reach out to Nico but he just batted away his hand. Coughing, Jason spoke. ‘I’m sorry this had to happen. It was never my intention to hurt you. Please know, that while there are things that I deeply regret ever doing in this lifetime, meeting you was not one of them.’

‘Just go. Please. Just leave,’ Nico muttered bluntly, refusing to even look at the man he once called his friend.

Jason let out a sigh and began walking toward his cousin who waited solemnly with shackles and chains in hand. Just as he walked past Nico, he suddenly paused his gait and turned to look at him. ‘That kiss, the other night. It wasn’t just for good luck, was it?’

Nico did not respond. He couldn’t. He staggered a little when he felt Jason’s bloodied lips pressed against his but by the time his fingers reached his own to find them stained and warm, Jason was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed. Don't hesitate to share your appreciation or thoughts on this work.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden and violent banging on the door interrupted him. Percy’s hand was on his cutlass’s hilt when he cautiously opened the door to find himself face-to-face with a familiar face that he greeted with a snarl. “You must be mad to come to my home, expecting to walk away alive.”
> 
> Nico did not flinch as Percy pressed the muzzle of his flintlock to his forehead. Calmly, he reached his hand into his pocket and took out a crumpled, yellowing piece of parchment. “If you want help in saving Jason, read this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the second last chapter. Phew. It's been a good long time writing this work. Probably will have to take a good long vacation afterward.

“Come on, come on, where in God’s name are you?” Percy kept on anxiously murmuring his words like a chant of sorts as he paced around in the hallways of his Kingston home. Occasionally, he paused to extract his pocket watch and took a nervous glance at its ticking hands. It was fifty minutes past five in the morning.

The ashen, vexed look of his face and the worried slouch on his shoulders revealed the amount of agitation that was gnawing away at his gut and his heart. He had barely slept the previous night. And the night before that. And the previous one. Trying to take a moment of respite had become impossible for the past two months with the sickening thought of the most unpleasant fate that Jason was to be subjected to. _That stupid, stupid lad._ Had he known the amount of trouble that his cousin would have gotten into, he would have personally sent him back across the ocean and leave him under the guardianship of Thalia.

“Thalia,” groaned Percy. He crumpled into his armchair, a heavy feeling of guilt weighing him down when he imagined the anguish she would feel once she got the news. “She’d never forgive me for this, would she?”

It was with absolutely honest belief that Percy thought that he could extract his cousin out of this convoluted mess with ease. As it turned out, however, miscalculations were made on his part as the trial was carried out faster than he could have anticipated. It was commonplace for criminals to languish in the gaol for some six months before they would be dragged before a judge, but in Jason’s case, his heritage and his bloodline expedited matters, which was to be a fatalistic detriment.

Percy had tried his utmost best. He had already exhausted all possible avenues of seeking amnesty for Jason. Frantic letters begging for mercy on his cousin’s behalf had been sent out from the Jackson household but to little or no response at all. There was only so much that anyone could do though as Jason’s actions had undoubtedly sealed his fate. Engaging in an act of piracy against the Crown was no small crime, add to that the crime of deserting a military post. Both crimes punishable by death; and Jason was foolish enough to be guilty of both. _The poor dolt._

The sound of thundering hooves and rumbling carriage wheels roused Percy from his inactivity. A quick rap on the front door was followed by the jingling of Annabeth’s keys. The captain hurried to the door and opened it, hoping with all his heart that his wife had good news to share with him. Alas, the morose look on her face said everything that he needed to know. “I did what I could. I gave every trick in the book a try,” she sighed, taking her husband’s hands into her own. “The Governor claims that his hands are tied but he promises a private execution to spare Jason’s dignity. He sends his sincere regards to –“

Pulling away gently from her, Percy then gritted his teeth and slammed his fists onto the door. He frustratedly snarled under his breath, “God damn it! Damn the bugger and his blithering regards! I’m not asking him for a fucking reprieve. It’s a bloody stay-of-execution I’m asking for, nothing more than that!”

“What about your father? He still has some clout in Parliament, doesn’t he? You might be able to –“

“By the time my letter reaches Liverpool, the boy will be a cold corpse in a pine box,” groaned Percy, burying his face in his hands. He stumbled back toward the fireplace and collapsed into his armchair. “What have I done?” he murmured. “What in God’s name have I done?”

As the bright orange coals continued to sizzle and crackle, Annabeth lightly laid her hand on his shoulders. “He gave himself up willingly. You gave him a chance to slip through your fingers and he refused to take it. If anything, it is a sign that he is willing to face the consequences of his actions, no matter what they may entail. Perhaps, despite our own personal misgivings, we should accept his decision.”

“Then he’s even more of a twit than I ever thought I’d consider him to be,” growled Percy. His eyes seethed with murderous resentment at the realisation that his cousin was going to callously give up his life in place of an actual pirate. _What had that vicious villain ever done for Jason to deserve such lasting loyalty from him?_ “Bloody hell. It’s that fucking pirate who should be hanging from the rope today, not bloody Jason! He’s an impressionable lad, probably stupid enough to be led astray by the devilish charms of that monster. But stupidity is no crime deserving of death. If it was, oh God, I’d say that maybe about three fourths of Parliament would be emptied out.”

Sitting herself down, Annabeth pondered on his words for a moment. She spoke after a period of contemplative silence. “Well, he was gone for quite a long time. We have no knowledge of the events that took place between his supposed disappearance and his subsequent return. Perhaps, something, or someone, changed him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Percy glanced up at his wife, finding it strange that her face was hard to read all of a sudden. “He was influenced into doing the things he did? Wasn’t that what I said?”

“Yes, but do you sincerely believe that your own cousin is the sort of person who would readily sacrifice his life for the common criminal? You have known him for longer than I. You would know him better. Think. What motive would drive him to do such a thing?”

Percy narrowed his eyes. He was not entirely sure what his wife was implying, but at the same time, he suspected that he was simply refusing to entertain such a preposterous proposition that Jason might be – _No, it is simply impossible._ It was more likely to be insanity or pure foolishness than that. The captain sighed as he walked the few short steps to the fireplace, where he stood watching the dying flickers of flame. He brooded over the last option he had, one he did not fancy resorting to.

“How’s your Pa doing?” he asked his wife all of a sudden. “I don’t suppose a nice long stay at his place would be a problem with you, would it?”

Annabeth huffed indignantly. “If you believe that you can just send me away like that, I am afraid you’re clearly mistaken. You’re planning something, aren’t you? Something reckless.”

“No.”

Silence.

“What? I am not.”

Her silence grew even louder.

Percy gave up. He knew better than to try lying to Annabeth. He could not tell if she was simply good at detecting lies or he was just utterly bad at telling them, but either way, trying to pull wool over her eyes normally resulted in a prolonged and unhappy feud. “Bloody hell, it’s kind of ridiculous and convoluted, so I’ll explain it along the way. But, could we please, please get moving? We don’t have much time before they hang –“

A sudden and violent banging on the door interrupted him. Percy’s hand was on his cutlass’s hilt when he cautiously opened the door to find himself face-to-face with a familiar face that he greeted with a snarl. “You must be mad to come to my home, expecting to walk away alive.”

Nico did not flinch as Percy pressed the muzzle of his flintlock to his forehead. Calmly, he reached his hand into his pocket and took out a crumpled, yellowing piece of parchment. “If you want help in saving Jason, read this.”

* * *

 

Jason had already made his peace with the Almighty when he heard the heavy footsteps of the guards thumping down the corridor. His knees were sore and scraped from the entire night of kneeling on the rough, cold stone floor. He had promised himself that he would be brave when his time came, but in all honesty, he felt more overwhelmed with sorrow than he was with courage.

The thought of not being able to say a proper goodbye to his sister and of not being able to actually spend some time with his father. Then, there was also Nico. Those confused feelings that had plagued him for the past two months intensified as those footsteps came closer and closer before coming to a halt outside his door.

“Get up,” a guard grunted as he unlocked the door to Jason’s cell. His partner tossed a heavy sack that landed at his feet. Inside were the garments and boots of an army officer. His uniform, somewhat crumpled and stained, but still presentable nonetheless. Jason smiled cynically at the thought of being able to die with the honour of an officer. At the very least, he would depart from this earth with his head held high as a soldier of the Queen’s army.

He donned the uniform with a sense of pride, though somewhat diminished by his current circumstances. No resistance was offered from him as the guards escorted him out of his cell, down the corridor, past the jeering prisoners who sat rotting in their own filthy cells. At the very end of the corridor was the door that would lead out to the central compound of Fort Charles, where the gallows had been erected specifically for him. He was actually thankful that he would be spared the indignity of becoming a subject of entertainment for the public.

His hands bound in front of him, Jason winced at the sunlight that he had been deprived of for so long beamed into his eyes. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see that only the garrison of the fortress would have the opportunity to spectate the execution of the man who had once held a promising career. Those who watched him closely that moment saw quite a variety of emotions on his face. There was fear, of course, but also, a strange mixture of submission and bravery.

“I made my choice,” he whispered for himself only to hear as he ascended the first step to his place of death. From its platform above him, the gallows seemed to eagerly await his arrival as its next victim. He paused to take a good long stare at it before being prodded forward by the point of bayonet.

“I have no regrets over what I did,” Jason mumbled under his breath. His train of thought was momentarily disturbed as the drum roll began. He reached the top of the platform where the executioner waited patiently with noose in hand. A quiet hush descended over the soldiers who watched him walk confidently toward the man, as though he was completely unaware that he was within the final moments of his life.

The executioner fastened the noose around his neck, muttering an apology when he unintentionally treaded on Jason’s toes. “If you’ve any last words, lad, I think now would be the time to share them.”

“I do wish I had more time. More time to say what I should have said a long time ago. But what’s done is done. I did what I did to protect him and I would do it again if I have the opportunity to do so again.”

“Protect who?”

Jason just smiled. “Do what you must. Be quick about it.”

At this, the executioner stepped forward and thrust a hessian sack over his head. The time that he had been waiting for was at hand. A weary sigh escaped his parted lips. “Forgive me…Nico.”

The trapdoor snapped open.

As his body dropped and the noose tightened its grip around his neck, Jason’s body writhed on impulse, flailing around and gasping for air. All was starting to grow dark. He did not see the knife that sailed whistling through the air, slicing into the rope and severing it altogether. Slipping into unconsciousness as he dropped through the trapdoor, he never heard the commotion of the soldiers trying to catch the intruder that had sabotaged the execution. All he saw were glimpses of Percy storming through the door, rushing toward his side. Then, darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to support the Archive! Cheerio!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason laughed heartily as he took a sip. His face then turned serious. “So, where are you heading off to?”
> 
> Nico’s smile slowly dissipated. “Home. I’m going home.”
> 
> “Home? Don’t you call this place home?” asked Jason, surprised and baffled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the final chapter. Sorry for the delay. I should really, really try sticking to my schedule the next time I start a new work. Thousand apologies. Dui bu qi. Pardon.

Despite his best efforts, Jason still could hardly retain his composure as he was subjected to the utterly humiliating display of having his rank stripped away from him. Had things been a little different, he would probably have had a comfortable desk job serving in the army with a generous salary. Instead, everything that he had worked hard toward was now dissipating into thin air before his very eyes. His heart broke a little when his army commission was unceremoniously torn in half right before him being tossed into the fire. He watched on glumly as the parchment burned, crackling and slowly disintegrating into ash.

Then, his ceremonial sword was next to go. To some extent, Jason was somewhat thankful that he had left his father’s sword in Percy’s possession. Rather his own sword than his family’s. The army commissioner grunted as he tried to break the blade on his knee. The steel was tougher than he anticipated but after a second try, the metal finally gave way and broke. The two pieces were then tossed into the fire as well. He had made up his mind to avoid showing weakness before the rest of the men, but he was still human and had to resort to breathing heavily to hold back the flood of tears. There was a place and a time to be sentimental, but this was not it.

The sound of his epaulets being ripped from his shoulders and his regimental cufflinks resounded through the silent courtyard. The regiment of soldiers watched on as the man who at one time could have been their commanding officer was reduced to nothing but a common man. His corget was torn off his chest and tossed onto the ground before being stomped on to leave irreparable damage. That was thankfully the final part of the ordeal before he was escorted out of the fort at the point of bayonet. There, waiting outside the gate, was the ever-helpful hand of Percy.

“Well?” asked Percy.

Jason smiled sourly, throwing his hands up. “Well, this entire ordeal has been nothing less than awful. I have just lost my rank which I worked my hardest to obtain, I am disallowed from reenlisting for the next year and I have languished two months away inside a Jamaican gaol. I have little more to say other than this is probably one of the lower points of my life, if not the lowest.”

Percy breathed deeply before throwing his hand around his miserable-looking cousin’s shoulder. “I suppose this is an appropriate time to be poetic and say something about how perseverance will make good your losses or how mistakes are made, but Annabeth is the one who is literary inclined one. So, I will just say, ‘Do you want some whiskey?’”

“Irish?”

“Sadly, no. It’s Scottish.”

“That would do. I will take anything right now,” said Jason, taking the flask that Percy produced before stumbling over to a nearby bench to drown his sorrows. The drink thankfully drowned out the sounds of the Saturday market crowd. He needed some time to think. For some minutes, he just sat there in silence, glumly looking out at the nearby harbour. He pondered upon his suffering, upon how close he had been to Death’s embrace.

Of late, his dreams consisted of mindless nonsense, but always somehow ended up with himself at the gallows again. Sometimes, for no reason at all, he could feel the noose pulling at his neck again, the hemp tightening around him, choking the breath and life out of him. Was it all really worth it, he wondered. Did Nico even think of what had become of him? They had left on bad terms after all, perhaps the memory of him had already been banished to the deep recesses of his mind?

“You know,” Percy suddenly said. “I had already made up my mind to do something incredibly reckless to break you out on your day of execution, but as it turned out, your ‘friend’ appeared on my doorstep with a solution in hand.”

“What do you mean?” frowned Jason. ‘What ‘friend’?”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about how you are still breathing?” asked Percy, surprised.

“Well, I have been spending most of my time contemplating my life choices, but now that you have brought it up, I am somewhat intrigued about how you came about with that reprieve of yours.”

“You should know that your reprieve wasn’t a product of my hand.”

“It wasn’t?”

“I tried my best to procure one, but there are only so many strings that I could pull. Your sister on the other hand knows the right people to butter up and to beseech for help from. You should really write to Thalia soon,” laughed Percy. “Knowing her, she would probably not stop tearing her hair out, fretting about you until she can be assured of your safety, though in this case, survival.”

 “Wait, the reprieve was her doing?”

“It was, but as much as I hate to admit it, her reprieve would have been as useful as an empty parchment if it had not arrived on time, thanks to your…’friend’s’ efforts. When he appeared on my door step, I had the good mind of debraining him right there and then with a well-placed shot. But, as it turned out, he had the key to your freedom in his possession. How he had made the crossing to England that quickly, I can’t tell, but all that mattered was that he could keep you alive. And that was all that mattered at the moment.”

Standing up quickly, Jason asked. “You keep saying, my ‘friend’. You don’t mean…”

“A certain seafaring criminal whose defence you came to by giving me a good slash across my chest. Yes, that one,” answered Percy, a hint of cynicism present in his smile. “He had found and met with your sister apparently, explained everything to her before transporting your reprieve across the ocean in what I believe to be record time. Any later and you would be in a pine box right now.”

“Do you know where Nico is now?”

“He said you will know where to find him and…I suppose; you’re going after him?”

For the first time in a very long time, Jason smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is that the last of your chests?” Nico called up to his sister. He glanced around to see if there was anything of worth left in the tavern. In the days he had left the place, it seemed that the locals had taken the opportunity to take apart the place. Barrels, chairs, tables and tankards had all mysteriously vanished out of the door. Thankfully though, his and Hazel’s possessions had been safely locked away upstairs and had been left untouched.

“I think so. Wait, wait. _Merde_. I need to pack up the porcelain sets!”

“Just hurry up, alright?” Nico groaned under his breath at this unwanted delay. He wanted to leave as quickly this place as he could. Setting a profitable plantation alight and freeing its slaves unsurprisingly came with rather severe repercussions. He had heard rumours that the French had put a large bounty on his head and would not rest until they caught the pirate who had caused them much pain and financial losses. He had not an ounce of regret for his actions though. They deserved it the moment they spirited Hazel away.

His thoughts drifted away as he wondered about Jason. He did not have much time to escape Fort George after he threw the knife, so he could not tell if he had managed to severe the rope. From some external sources, he did learn that Jason had survived which was much to his relief. He could not let another die for him. Least of all Jason. “Are you done? I want to be going as soon as –“ Right there and then, his words were interrupted by a thunderous boom. The sound of a cannon firing.

“Captain!” A dishevelled looking seaman charged through the door, fear written all over his face. “An English man-of-war has appeared offshore.”

“Do they seek battle?” asked Nico, quickly holstering his pistols.

“No, sir. They’ve raised the Black Flag and are sending a party to meet us. They wish to parley.”

Striding out onto the beach, Nico slung his bandolier over his shoulder and checked to see if his pistols were loaded. Considering the last time a warship landed a party on this beach, he had good reason to be suspicious of these visitors’ intentions. That was at least until he saw a familiar, friendly face among the fellows in the rowboat heading toward the shore. Nico smiled. “Hello, Jason.”

* * *

 

“Well, if it’s any compensation, I am still alive, and I suppose it would be right for me to thank you for it,” said Jason.

“Don’t mention it,” smiled Nico. “Your sister’s quite a nice lady, isn’t she? I wasn’t expecting her to believe me that easily, but when I told her what had happened to you, she took it all in better than I expected.”

“She always thinks that if I’m not writing letters to her, I am getting into trouble.”

“Well, she was right in this case, wasn’t she?” chuckled Nico as he handed Jason his bottle of rum.

 Jason laughed heartily as he took a sip. His face then turned serious. “So, where are you heading off to?”

Nico’s smile slowly dissipated. “Home. I’m going home.”

“Home? Don’t you call this place home?” asked Jason, surprised and baffled.

“My first home, I mean. _Venezia_. I am returning to Venice. Signora Reyna has informed that she has a lead about the people who attacked my family and I wish to follow up on it.”

“To seek revenge?”

“Answers first,” corrected Nico. “Revenge will only enter the picture if necessary. I want to know what happened and why.”

“I suppose that is a reasonable response. I wish you the best in your endeavours in uncovering the truth.”

“Thanks,” said Nico. “And, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“When we last parted, I was unfair to you. You were trying to do what you believed was the right thing, keeping me out of danger. Danger that I pulled you into in the first place. I still think what you did was foolish, but you were very brave and kind nonetheless. By the time I realised this, you were already long gone. That’s why I headed straight to England to look for your sister, then afterward, your cousin. The only people who could help save your life.”

“And save my life, all of you did,” sighed Jason. There was a period of silence as the two contemplated what was to come after this, after they went their separate ways to lead their own lives. The journey that the two had undergone together had been nothing like they had ever expected before, and most unexpectedly, started something that none of them could ever anticipate.

“So, I’ve told you where I’m going. What about you?” asked Nico. “Where do you go from here?”

For a moment, Jason pondered. He then replied, “I can’t reenlist for now, so I think I’ll return to England. I have to show myself to Thalia, tell her that I am alright. She has been in great distress because of me and I owe much to her to not assure her of my wellbeing.”

“I see,” said Nico. “Maybe I can look for you when I have the time.”

“That’d be a treat. I would look forward to meeting you in England.”

“Or…you could…” A nonsensical thought briefly entered Nico’s mind. “Never mind.”

“What? What is it?”

“I was thinking of offering you to come along with me. To Venice, I mean,” laughed Nico. “A silly suggestion.”

“You are asking me to come along with you?” asked Jason.

“Would you?” asked Nico, his heart pounding surprisingly quickly all of a sudden.

He knew his answer when Jason took his hand and felt the warmth of his lips pressing against his.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, kudos and comments are always warmly welcomed. Don't hesitate, don't be shy. I don't bite!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always warmly appreciated. Cheers, people!


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